LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

Mr.    H.    H.    Kil iani 


UCSB  LIBRARY 


H.    DE    BALZAC 


THE   COMEDIE    HUMAINE 


SHE  TOOK    HER   MAID    WITH    HER,  AND   THE   OLD   SOLDIER 
GALLOPED    BESIDE    THE    CARRIAGE. 


H.    DE     BALZAC 


A  WOMAN  OF  THIRTY 

(LA  FEMME  DE  TRENTE  ANS) 

AND  A  START  IN  LIFE 


TRANSLATED    BY 


ELLEN    MARRIAGE 


WITH   A   PREFACE   BY 


GEORGE    SAINTSBURY 


PHILADELPHIA 

THE  GEBBIE  PUBLISHING  Co.,  Ltd. 
1898 


CONTENTS 


nun 
PREFACE ix 

A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY— 

I.  EARLY  MISTAKES I 

II.  A  HIDDEN   GRIEF 76 

III.  AT   THIRTY   YEARS 99 

IV.  THE   FINGER   OF  GOD '.  .124 

V.   TWO   MEETINGS 139 

VI.   THE  OLD  AGE   OF  A  GUILTY  MOTHER       ....      193 

A   START  IN  LIFE 209 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


SHE  TOOK   HER   MAID  WITH    HER,   AND    THE    OLD    SOLDIER   GAL- 
LOPED BESIDE  THE  CARRIAGE  (p.  36)    .         .         .        Frontispiece. 

PACK 
SHE   PUT  THE   CURTAINS    SOFTLY   ASIDE 72 

HE  TURNED   HIS   HEAD  TOWARD  HIS   HOST'S   DAUGHTER        .  -      157 

A     VAST     COLUMN    OF    SMOKE    RISING     SPREAD    LIKE     A     BROWN 

CLOUD 187 

Drawn  by  W.  Boucher. 

PIERROTIN  SAT  DOWN   ON  ONE  OF  THE  ENORMOUS  CURBSTONES  .      219 
Drawn  by  F.  C.  Tilney. 


PREFACE. 

"LA  FEMME  DE  TRENTE  ANS,"  which  opens  the  volume, 
is  tainted  with  a  kind  of  sentimentalism  which,  in  Balzac's 
hands  and  to  English  taste,  very  rarely  escapes  a  smatch  of 
the  rancid.  As  M.  de  Lovenjoul's  patient  investigations  have 
shown,  and  as  the  curiously  wide  date  1828-1844  would  itself 
indicate  to  any  one  who  has  carefully  studied  Balzac's  ways  of 
proceeding,  it  is  not  really  a  single  story  at  all,  but  consists 
of  half  a  dozen  chapters  or  episodes  originally  published  at 
different  times  and  in  different  places,  and  stuck  together  with 
so  much  less  than  even  the  author's  usual  attention  to  strict 
construction,  that  the  general  title  is  totally  inapplicable  to 
the  greater  part  of  the  book,  and  that  the  chronology  of  that 
part  to  which  it  does  apply  fits  in  very  badly  with  the  rest. 
This,  however,  is  the  least  of  the  faults  of  the  piece.  It  is 
more — though  still  not  most — serious  that  Balzac  never  seems 
to  have  made  up  anything  like  a  clear  or  consistent  idea  of 
Julie  d'Aiglemont  in  his  mind.  First  she  is  a  selfish  and 
thoughtless  child ;  then  an  angelic  and  persecuted  but  faithful 
wife ;  then  a  somewhat  facile  victim  to  a  very  commonplace 
seducer,  after  resisting  an  exceptional  one.  So,  again,  she  is 
first  a  devoted  mother,  then  an  almost  unnatural  parent,  and 
then  again  devoted,  being  punished  par  ou  die  a  plche  [how- 
ever she  may  sin]  once  more.  Even  this,  however,  might 
have  been  atoned  for  by  truth,  or  grace,  or  power  of  handling. 
I  cannot  find  much  of  any  of  these  things  here.  Not  to  men- 
tion the  unsavoriness  of  part  of  Julie's  trials,  they  are  not 
such  as,  in  me  at  least,  excite  any  sympathy ;  and  Balzac  has 
drenched  her  with  the  sickly  sentiment  above  noticed  to  an 
almost  nauseous  extent.  Although  he  would  have  us  take  the 
Marquis  as  a  brutal  husband,  he  does  not  in  effect  represent 

(ix) 


x  PREFACE. 

him  as  such,  but  merely  as  a  not  very  refined  and  rather  clumsy 
"good  fellow,"  who  for  his  sins  is  cursed  with  a  mijauree 
[affected]  of  a  wife.  The  Julie-Arthur  love-passages  are  in  the 
very  worst  style  of  "sensibility;"  and  though  I  fully  ac- 
knowledge the  heroism  of  my  countryman  Lord  Arthur  in 
allowing  his  fingers  to  be  crushed  and  making  no  sign — al- 
though I  question  very  much  whether  I  could  have  done  the 
same — I  fear  this  romantic  act  does  not  suffice  to  give  verisi- 
militude to  a  figure  which  is  for  the  most  part  mere  pasteboard, 
with  sawdust  inside  and  tinsel  out.  Many  of  the  incidents, 
such  as  the  pushing  of  the  child  into  the  water,  and,  still  more, 
the  scene  on  shipboard  where  the  princely  Corsair  takes  mil- 
lions out  of  a  piano  and  gives  them  away,  have  the  crude  and 
childish  absurdity  of  the  "CEuvres  de  Jeunesse,"  which  they 
very  much  resemble,  and  with  which,  from  the  earliest  date 
given,  they  may  very  probably  have  been  contemporary. 
Those  who  are  fortunate  enough  to  find  Julie,  in  her  early 
afternoon  of  femme  incomprise  [non-compromised  woman], 
attractive,  may  put  up  with  these  defects.  I  own  that  I  am 
not  quite  able  to  find  the  compensation  sufficient.  The  worse 
side  of  the  French  "sensibility"  school  from  Rousseau  to 
Madame  de  Stael  appears  here ;  and  Balzac,  genius  as  he  was, 
had  quite  weak  points  enough  of  his  own  without  borrowing 
other  men's  and  women's. 

It  takes  M.  de  Lovenjoul  nearly  three  of  his  large  pages  of 
small  type  to  give  an  exact  bibliography  of  the  extraordinary 
mosaic  which  bears  the  title  of  "  La  Femme  de  Trente  Ans." 
It  must  be  sufficient  here  to  say  that  most  of  its  parts  appeared 
separately  in  different  periodicals  (notably  the  "  Revue  de 
Paris  ")  during  the  very  early  thirties ;  that  when  in  1832  most 
of  them  appeared  together  in  the  "  Scenes  de  la  Vie  Priv£e  " 
they  were  independent  stories  ;  and  that  when  the  author  did 
put  them  together,  he  at  first  adopted  the  title  "  Mdme  His- 
toire." 

The  second  story  in  the  volume,  a  very  slight  touch  of  un- 


PREFACE.  xi 

necessary  cruelty  excepted,  is  one  of  the  truest  and  most  amus- 
ing of  all  Balzac's  repertoire ;  and  it  is  conducted  according 
to  the  orthodox  methods  of  poetical  justice.  It  is  impossible 
not  to  recognize  the  justice  of  the  portraiture  of  the  luckless 
Oscar  Husson,  and  the  exact  verisimilitude  of  the  way  in  which 
he  succumbs  to  the  temptations  and  practical  jokes  (the  first 
title  of  the  story  was  "Le  Danger  des  Mystifications")  of  his 
companions.  I  am  not  a  good  authority  on  matters  dramatic ; 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  the  story  would  lend  itself  to  the  stage 
in  the  right  hands  better  than  almost  anything  that  Balzac 
has  done.  Half  an  enfant  terrible  and  half  a  Sir  Martin  Mar- 
all,  the  luckless  Oscar  "puts  his  foot  into  it,"  and  emerges  in 
deplorable  condition,  with  a  sustained  success  which  would  do 
credit  to  all  but  the  very  best  writers  of  farcical  comedy,  and 
would  not  disgrace  the  very  best. 

In  such  pieces  the  characters  other  than  the  hero  have  but 
to  play  contributory  parts,  and  here  they  do  not  fail  to  do 
so.  M.  de  Serizy,  whom  it  pleased  Balzac  to  keep  in  a  dozen 
books  as  his  stock  example  of  the  unfortunate  husband,  plays 
his  part  with  at  least  as  much  dignity  as  is  easily  possible 
to  such  a  personage.  Madame  Clapart  is  not  too  absurd  as 
the  fond  mother  of  the  cub ;  and  Moreau,  her  ancient  lover, 
is  equally  commendable  in  the  not  very  easy  part  of  a  "  pro- 
tector." The  easy-going  ladies  who  figure  in  Oscar's  second 
collapse  display  well  enough  that  rather  facile  generosity  and 
good-nature  which  Balzac  is  fond  of  attributing  to  them. 
As  for  the  "Mystificators,"  Balzac,  as  usual,  is  decidedly 
more  lenient  to  the  artist  folk  than  he  is  elsewhere  to  men 
of  letters.  Mistigris,  or  Leon  de  Lora,  is  always  a  pleasant 
person,  and  Joseph  Bridau  always  a  respectable  one.  Georges 
Marest  is  no  doubt  a  bad  fellow,  but  he  gets  punished. 

Nor  ought  we  to  omit  notice  of  the  careful  study  of  the 
apprenticeship  of  a  lawyer's  clerk,  wherein,  as  elsewhere  no 
doubt,  Balzac  profited  by  his  own  novitiate.  Altogether  the 
story  is  a  pleasant  one,  and  we  acquiesce  in  the  tempering 


xii  PREFACE. 

of  the  wind  to  Oscar  when  that  ordinary  person  is  consoled 
for  his  sufferings  with  the  paradise  of  the  French  bourgeois 
— a  respectable  place,  a  wife  with  no  dangerous  brilliancy, 
and  a  good  dot. 

G.  S. 


A  WOMAN    OF    THIRTY. 

To  Louis  Boulangcr,  Painter. 
I. 

EARLY   MISTAKES. 

IT  was  a  Sunday  morning  in  the  beginning  of  April,  1813,  a 
morning  which  gave  promise  of  one  of  those  bright  days  when 
Parisians,  for  the  first  time  in  the  year,  behold  dry  pavements 
underfoot  and  a  cloudless  sky  overhead.  It  was  not  yet  noon 
when  a  luxurious  cabriolet,  drawn  by  two  spirited  horses, 
turned  out  of  the  Rue  de  Castiglione  into  the  Rue  de  Rivoli, 
and  drew  up  behind  a  row  of  carriages  standing  before  the 
newly  opened  barrier  half-way  down  the  Feuillant  Terrace. 
The  owner  of  the  carriage  looked  anxious  and  out  of  health ; 
the  thin  hair  on  his  sallow  temples,  turning  gray  already,  gave 
a  look  of  premature  age  to  his  face.  He  flung  the  reins  to  a 
servant  who  followed  on  horseback,  and  alighted  to  take  in 
his  arms  a  young  girl  whose  dainty  beauty  had  already  at- 
tracted the  eyes  of  loungers  on  the  terrace.  The  little  lady, 
standing  upon  the  carriage  step,  graciously  submitted  to  be 
taken  by  the  waist,  putting  an  arm  around  the  neck  of  her 
guide,  who  set  her  down  upon  the  pavement  without  so  much 
as  ruffling  the  trimming  of  her  green  rep  dress.  No  lover 
would  have  been  more  careful.  The  stranger  could  only  be 
the  father  of  the  young  girl,  who  took  his  arm  familiarly 
without  a  word  of  thanks,  and  hurried  him  into  the  garden  of 
the  Tuileries. 

The  old  father  noted  the  wondering  stare  which  some  of 
the  young  men  gave  the  couple,  and  the  sad  expression  left  his 
face  for  a  moment.  Although  he  had  long  since  reached  the 

(1) 


2  A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY. 

time  of  life  when  a  man  is  fain  to  be  content  with  such  illu- 
sory delights  as  vanity  bestows,  he  began  to  smile. 

"They  think  you  are  my  wife,"  he  said  in  the  young  lady's 
ear,  and  he  held  himself  erect  and  walked  with  slow  steps, 
which  filled  his  daughter  with  despair. 

He  seemed  to  take  up  the  coquette's  part  for  her ;  perhaps 
of  the  two,  he  was  the  more  gratified  by  the  curious  glances 
directed  at  those  little  feet,  shod  with  plum-colored  prunella ; 
at  the  dainty  figure  outlined  by  a  low-cut  bodice,  filled  in 
with  an  embroidered  chemisette,  which  only  partially  con- 
cealed the  girlish  throat.  Her  dress  was  lifted  by  her  move- 
ments as  she  walked,  giving  glimpses  higher  than  the  shoes  of 
delicately  moulded  outlines  beneath  open-work  silk  stockings. 
More  than  one  of  the  idlers  turned  and  passed  the  pair  again, 
to  admire  or  to  catch  a  second  glimpse  of  the  young  face, 
about  which  the  brown  tresses  played ;  there  was  a  glow  in  its 
white  and  red,  partly  reflected  from  the  rose-colored  satin 
lining  of  her  fashionable  bonnet,  partly  due  to  the  eagerness 
and  impatience  which  sparkled  in  every  feature.  A  mischiev- 
ous sweetness  lighted  up  the  beautiful,  almond-shaped  dark 
eyes,  bathed  in  liquid  brightness,  shaded  by  the  long  lashes 
and  curving  arch  of  eyebrow.  Life  and  youth  displayed  their 
treasures  in  the  petulant  face  and  in  the  gracious  outlines  of 
the  bust,  unspoiled  even  by  the  fashion  of  the  day,  which 
brought  the  girdle  under  the  breast. 

The  young  lady  herself  appeared  to  be  insensible  to  admi- 
ration. Her  eyes  were  fixed  in  a  sort  of  anxiety  on  the  palace 
of  the  Tuileries,  the  goal,  doubtless,  of  her  petulant  prome- 
nade. It  wanted  but  fifteen  minutes  of  noon,  yet  even  at  that 
early  hour  several  women  in  gala  dress  were  coming  away 
from  the  Tuileries,  not  without  backward  glances  at  the  gates 
and  pouting  looks  of  discontent,  as  if  they  regretted  the  late- 
ness of  the  arrival  which  had  cheated  them  of  a  longed-for 
spectacle.  Chance  carried  a  few  words  let  fall  by  one  of  these 
disappointed  fair  ones  to  the  ears  of  the  charming  stranger, 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  3 

and  put  her  in  a  more  than  common  uneasiness.  The  elderly 
man  watched  the  signs  of  impatience  and  apprehension  which 
flitted  across  his  companion's  pretty  face  with  interest,  rather 
than  amusement,  in  his  eyes,  observing  her  with  a  close  and 
careful  attention,  which  perhaps  could  only  be  prompted  by 
some  after-thought  in  the  depths  of  a  father's  mind. 

It  was  the  thirteenth  Sunday  of  the  year  1813.  In  two 
days'  time  Napoleon  was  to  set  out  upon  the  disastrous  cam- 
paign in  which  he  was  to  lose  first  Bessieres,  and  then  Duroc ; 
he  was  to  win  the  memorable  battles  of  Lutzen  and  Bautzen, 
to  see  himself  treacherously  deserted  by  Austria,  Saxony, 
Bavaria,  and  Bernadotte,  and  to  dispute  the  dreadful  field  of 
Leipsic.*  The  magnificent  review  commanded  for  that  day  by 
the  Emperor  was  to  be  the  last  of  so  many  which  had  long 
drawn  forth  the  admiration  of  Paris  and  of  foreign  visitors. 
For  the  last  time  the  Old  Guard  would  execute  their  scientific 
military  manoeuvres  with  the  pomp  and  precision  which  some- 
times amazed  the  Giant  himself.  Napoleon  was  nearly  ready 
for  his  duel  with  Europe.  It  was  a  sad  sentiment  which 
brought  a  brilliant  and  curious  throng  to  the  Tuileries. 
Each  mind  seemed  to  foresee  the  future ;  perhaps,  too,  in  every 
mind  another  thought  was  dimly  present,  how  that  in  that 
future,  when  the  heroic  age  of  France  should  have  taken  the 
half-fabulous  color  with  which  it  is  tinged  for  us  to-day,  men's 
imaginations  would  more  than  once  seek  to  retrace  the  picture 
of  the  pageant  which  they  were  assembled  to  behold. 

"  Do  let  us  go  more  quickly,  father  ;  I  can  hear  the  drums," 
the  young  girl  said,  and  in  a  half-teasing,  half-coaxing  manner 
she  urged  her  companion  forward. 

"The  troops  are  marching  into  the  Tuileries,"  said  he. 

"  Or  marching  out  of  it — everybody  is  coming  away,"  she 
answered  in  childish  vexation,  which  drew  a  smile  from  her 
father. 

*  Volkerschlacht :  Napoleon's  first  defeat. 


4  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

"  The  review  only  begins  at  half-past  twelve,"  he  said  ;  he 
had  fallen  half  behind  his  impetuous  daughter. 

It  might  have  been  supposed  that  she  meant  to  hasten  their 
progress  by  the  movement  of  her  right  arm,  for  it  swung  like 
an  oar-blade  through  the  water.  In  her  impatience  she  had 
crushed  her  handkerchief  into  a  ball  in  her  tiny,  well-gloved 
fingers.  Now  and  then  the  old  man  smiled,  but  the  smiles 
were  succeeded  by  an  anxious  look  which  crossed  his  withered 
face  and  saddened  it.  In  his  love  for  the  fair  young  girl  by 
his  side,  he  was  as  fain  to  exalt  the  present  moment  as  to 
dread  the  future.  "She  is  happy  to-day;  will  her  happiness 
last?"  he  seemed  to  ask  himself,  for  the  old  are  somewhat 
prone  to  foresee  their  own  sorrows  in  the  future  of  the  young. 

Father  and  daughter  reached  the  peristyle  under  the  tower 
where  the  tricolor  flag  was  still  waving ;  but,  as  they  passed 
under  the  arch  by  which  people  came  and  went  between  the 
gardens  of  the  Tuileries  and  the  Place  du  Carrousel,  the 
sentries  on  guard  called  out  sternly — 

"  No  admittance  this  way  !  " 

By  standing  on  tiptoe  the  young  girl  contrived  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  a  crowd  of  well-dressed  women,  thronging  either 
side  of  the  old  marble  arcade  along  which  the  Emperor  was 
to  pass. 

"  We  were  too  late  in  starting,  father;  you  can  see  that 
quite  well."  A  little  piteous  pout  revealed  the  immense 
importance  which  she  attached  to  the  sight  of  this  particular 
review. 

"  Very  well,  Julie — let  us  go  away.     You  dislike  a  crush." 

"  Do  let  us  stay,  father.  Even  here  I  may  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  Emperor;  he  might  die  during  this  campaign,  and  then 
I  should  never  have  seen  him." 

Her  father  shuddered  at  the  selfish  speech.  There  were 
tears  in  the  girl's  voice ;  he  looked  at  her,  and  thought  that 
he  saw  tears  beneath  her  lowered  eyelids ;  tears  caused  not  so 
much  by  the  disappointment  as  by  one  of  the  troubles  of  early 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  5 

youth,  a  secret  easily  guessed  by  an  old  father.  Suddenly 
Julie's  face  flushed,  and  she  uttered  an  exclamation.  Neither 
her  father  nor  the  sentinels  understood  the  meaning  of  the 
cry ;  but  an  officer  within  the  barrier,  who  sprang  across  the 
court  toward  the  staircase,  heard  it,  and  turned  abruptly  at 
the  sound.  He  went  to  the  arcade  by  the  gardens  of  the 
Tuileries,  and  recognized  the  young  lady  who  had  been  hidden 
for  a  moment  by  the  tall  bearskin  caps  of  the  grenadiers.  He 
set  aside  in  favor  of  the  pair  the  order  which  he  himself  had 
given.  Then,  taking  no  heed  of  the  murmurings  of  the 
fashionable  crowd  seated  under  the  arcade,  he  gently  drew 
the  enraptured  child  toward  him. 

"I  am  no  longer  surprised  at  her  vexation  and  enthusiasm, 
if  you  are  in  waiting,"  the  old  man  said  with  a  half-mocking, 
half-serious  glance  at  the  officer. 

"  If  you  want  a  good  position,  Monsieur  le  Due,"  the  young 
man  answered,  "  we  must  not  spend  any  time  in  talking.  The 
Emperor  does  not  like  to  be  kept  waiting,  and  the  grand 
marshal  has  sent  me  to  announce  our  readiness." 

As  he  spoke,  he  had  taken  Julie's  arm  with  a  certain  air  of 
old  acquaintance,  and  drew  her  rapidly  in  the  direction  of  the 
Place  du  Carrousel.  Julie  was  astonished  at  the  sight.  An 
immense  crowd  was  penned  up  in  a  narrow  space,  shut  in 
between  the  gray  walls  of  the  palace  and  the  limits  marked 
out  by  chains  round  the  great  sanded  squares  in  the  midst  of 
the  courtyard  of  the  Tuileries.  The  cordon  of  sentries  posted 
to  keep  a  clear  passage  for  the  Emperor  and  his  staff  had  great 
difficulty  in  keeping  back  the  eager  humming  swarm  of  human 
beings. 

"Is  it  going  to  be  a  very  fine  sight  ? "  Julie  asked  (she  was 
radiant  now). 

"  Pray  take  care !  "  cried  her  guide,  and,  seizing  Julie  by 
the  waist,  he  lifted  her  up  with  as  much  vigor  as  rapidity  and 
set  her  down  beside  a  pillar.  , 

But  for  his  prompt  action,  his  gazing  kinswoman   would 


6  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

have  come  into  collision  with  the  hindquarters  of  a  white 
horse  which  Napoleon's  Mameluke  held  by  the  bridle ;  the 
animal  in  its  trappings  of  green  velvet  and  gold  stood  almost 
under  the  arcade,  some  ten  paces  behind  the  rest  of  the 
horses  in  readiness  for  the  Emperor's  staff. 

The  young  officer  placed  the  father  and  daughter  in  front 
of  the  crowd  in  the  first  space  to  the  right,  and  recommended 
them  by  a  sign  to  the  two  veteran  grenadiers  on  either  side. 
Then  he  went  on  his  way  into  the  palace ;  a  look  of  great  joy 
and  happiness  had  succeeded  to  his  horror-stricken  expression 
when  the  horse  backed.  Julie  had  given  his  hand  a  mysterious 
pressure ;  had  she  meant  to  thank  him  for  the  little  service  he 
had  done  her,  or  did  she  tell  him:  "After  all,  I  shall  really 
see  you?  "  She  bent  her  head  quite  graciously  in  response  to 
the  respectful  bow  by  which  the  officer  took  leave  of  them 
before  he  vanished. 

The  old  man  stood  a  little  behind  his  daughter.  He  looked 
grave.  He  seemed  to  have  left  the  two  young  people  together 
for  some  purpose  of  his  own,  and  now  he  furtively  watched 
the  girl,  trying  to  lull  her  into  false  security  by  appearing  to 
give  his  whole  attention  to  the  magnificent  sight  in  the  Place 
du  Carrousel.  When  Julie's  eyes  turned  to  her  father  with 
the  expression  of  a  schoolboy  before  his  master,  he  answered 
her  glance  by  a  gay,  kindly  smile,  but  his  own  keen  eyes  had 
followed  the  officer  under  the  arcade,  and  nothing  of  all  that 
passed  was  lost  upon  him. 

"What  a  grand  sight !  "  said  Julie  in  a  low  voice,  as  she 
pressed  her  father's  hand  ;  and,  indeed,  the  pomp  and  pic- 
turesqueness  of  the  spectacle  in  the  Place  du  Carrousel  drew 
the  same  exclamation  from  thousands  upon  thousands  of  spec- 
tators, all  agape  with  wonder.  Another  array  of  sightseers, 
as  tightly  packed  as  the  ranks  behind  the  old  noble  and  his 
daughter,  filled  the  narrow  strip  of  pavement  by  the  railings 
which  crossed  the  Place  du  Carrousel  from  side  to  side  in  a 
line  parallel  with  the  Tuileries.  The  dense  living  mass,  varie- 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  7 

gated  by  the  colors  of  the  women's  dresses,  traced  out  a  bold 
line  across  the  centre  of  the  Place  du  Carrousel,  filling  in 
the  fourth  side  of  a  vast  parallelogram,  surrounded  on  three 
sides  by  the  Tuileries  itself.  Within  the  precincts  thus  railed 
off  stood  the  regiments  of  the  Old  Guard  about  to  be  passed 
in  review,  drawn  up  opposite  the  palace  in  imposing  blue 
columns,  ten  ranks  in  depth.  Without  and  beyond  in  the 
Place  du  Carrousel  stood  several  regiments  likewise  drawn  up 
in  parallel  lines,  ready  to  march  in  through  the  arch  in  the 
centre  ;  the  Triumphal  Arch,  where  the  bronze  horses  of  St. 
Mark  from  Venice  used  to  stand  in  those  days.  At  either 
end,  by  the  Louvre  Galleries,  the  regimental  bands  were 
stationed,  masked  by  the  Polish  Lancers  then  on  duty. 

The  greater  part  of  the  vast  graveled  space  was  empty  as  an 
arena,  ready  for  the  evolutions  of  those  silent  masses  disposed 
with  the  symmetry  of  military  art.  The  sunlight  blazed  back 
from  ten  thousand  bayonets  in  thin  points  of  flame;  the 
breeze  ruffled  the  men's  helmet  plumes  till  they  swayed  like 
the  crests  of  forest  trees  before  a  gale.  The  mute,  glittering 
ranks  of  veterans  were  full  of  bright  contrasting  colors,  thanks 
to  their  different  uniforms,  weapons,  accoutrements,  and 
aiguillettes;  and  the  whole  great  picture,  that  miniature  battle- 
field before  the  combat,  was  framed  by  the  majestic  towering 
walls  of  the  Tuileries,  which  officers  and  men  seemed  to  rival 
in  their  immobility.  Involuntarily  the  spectator  made  the 
comparison  between  the  walls  of  men  and  the  walls  of  stone. 
The  spring  sunlight,  flooding  white  masonry  reared  but  yes- 
terday and  buildings  centuries  old,  shone  full  likewise  upon 
thousands  of  bronzed  faces,  each  one  with  its  own  tale  of 
perils  passed,  each  one  gravely  expectant  of  perils  to  come. 

The  colonels  of  the  regiments  came  and  went  alone  before 
the  ranks  of  heroes;  and  behind  the  masses  of  troops,  checkered 
with  blue  and  silver  and  gold  and  purple,  the  curious  could 
discern  the  tricolor  pennons  on  the  lances  of  some  half-a- 
dozen  indefatigable  Polish  cavalry,  rushing  about  like  shep- 


8  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

herds'  dogs  in  charge  of  a  flock,  caracoling  up  and  down  be- 
tween the  troops  and  the  crowd,  to  keep  the  gazers  within  their 
proper  bounds.  But  for  this  slight  flutter  of  movement,  the 
whole  scene  might  have  been  taking  place  in  the  courtyard  of 
the  palace  of  the  Sleeping  Beauty.  The  very  spring  breeze,  ruf- 
fling up  the  long  fur  on  the  grenadiers'  bearskins,  bore  witness 
to  the  men's  immobility,  as  the  smothered  murmur  of  the 
crowd  emphasized  their  silence.  Now  and  again  the  jingling 
of  Chinese  bells,  or  a  chance  blow  to  a  big  drum,  woke  the 
reverberating  echoes  of  the  Imperial  Palace  with  a  sound  like 
the  far-off  rumblings  of  thunder. 

An  indescribable,  unmistakable  enthusiasm  was  manifest  in 
the  expectancy  of  the  multitude.  France  was  about  to  take 
farewell  of  Napoleon  on  the  eve  of  a  campaign  of  which  the 
meanest  citizen  foresaw  the  perils.  The  existence  of  the 
French  Empire  was  at  stake — to  be,  or  not  to  be.  The  whole 
citizen  population  seemed  to  be  as  much  inspired  with  this 
thought  as  that  other  armed  population  standing  in  serried 
and  silent  ranks  in  the  inclosed  space,  with  the  Eagles  and 
the  genius  of  Napoleon  hovering  above  them. 

Those  very  soldiers  were  the  hope  of  France,  her  last  drop 
of  blood  ;  and  this  accounted  for  not  a  little  of  the  anxious 
interest  of  the  scene.  Most  of  the  gazers  in  the  crowd  had 
bidden  farewell — perhaps  farewell  for  ever — to  the  men  who 
made  up  the  rank  and  file  of  the  battalions ;  and  even  those 
most  hostile  to  the  Emperor,  in  their  hearts,  put  up  fervent 
prayers  to  heaven  for  the  glory  of  France ;  and  those  most 
weary  of  the  struggle  with  the  rest  of  Europe  had  left  their 
hatreds  behind  as  they  passed  in  under  the  Triumphal  Arch. 
They,  too,  felt  that  in  the  hour  of  danger  Napoleon  meant 
France  herself. 

The  clock  of  the  Tuileries  struck  the  half-hour.  In  a 
moment  the  hum  of  the  crowd  ceased.  The  silence  was  so 
deep  that  you  might  have  heard  *  a  child  speak.  The  old 
noble  and  his  daughter,  wholly  intent,  seeming  to  live  only 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  9 

by  their  eyes,  caught  a  distinct  sound  of  spurs  and  clank  of 
swords  echoing  up  under  the  sonorous  peristyle. 

And  suddenly  there  appeared  a  short,  somewhat  stout  figure 
in  a  green  uniform,  white  trousers,  and  riding  boots;  a  man 
wearing  on  his  head  a  cocked  hat  well-nigh  as  magically 
potent  as  its  wearer ;  the  broad  red  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor  rose  and  fell  on  his  breast,  and  a  short  sword  hung  at 
his  side.  At  one  and  the  same  moment  the  man  was  seen  by 
all  eyes  in  all  parts  of  the  square. 

Immediately  the  drums  beat  a  salute,  both  bands  struck  up 
a  martial  refrain,  caught  and  repeated  like  a  fugue  by  every 
instrument  from  the  thinnest  flutes  to  the  largest  drum.  The 
clangor  of  that  call  to  arms  thrilled  through  every  soul.  The 
colors  dropped  and  the  men  presented  arms,  one  unanimous 
rhythmical  movement  shaking  every  bayonet  from  the  fore- 
most front  near  the  palace  to  the  last  rank  in  the  Place  du 
Carrousel.  The  words  of  command  sped  from  line  to  line 
like  echoes.  The  whole  enthusiastic  multitude  sent  up  a 
shout  of  "  Long  live  the  Emperor !  " 

Everything  shook,  quivered,  and  thrilled  at  last.  Napoleon 
had  mounted  his  horse.  It  was  his  movement  that  had  put 
life  into  those  silent  masses  of  men ;  the  dumb  instruments 
had  found  a  voice  at  his  coming,  the  Eagles  and  the  colors 
had  obeyed  the  same  impulse  which  had  brought  emotion  into 
all  faces. 

The  very  walls  of  the  high  galleries  of  the  old  palace  seemed 
to  cry  aloud,  " Long  live  the  Emperor!  " 

There  was  something  preternatural  about  it — it  was  magic 
at  work,  a  counterfeit  presentment  of  the  power  of  God ;  or 
rather  it  was  a  fugitive  image  of  a  reign  itself  so  fugitive 
though  brilliant. 

And  HE  the  centre  of  such  love,  such  enthusiasm  and  devo- 
tion, and  so  many  prayers,  he  for  whom  the  sun  had  driven 
the  clouds  from  the  sky,  was  sitting  there  on  his  horse,  three 
paces  in  front  of  his  Golden  Squadron,  with  the  grand  marshal 


10  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

on  his  left,  and  the  marshal-in-waiting  on  his  right.  Amid  all 
the  outburst  of  enthusiasm  at  his  presence  not  a  feature  of  his 
face  appeared  to  alter. 

"  Oh  !  yes.  At  Wagram,  in  the  thick  of  the  firing,  on  the 
field  of  Borodino,  among  the  dead,  always  as  cool  as  a  cucum- 
ber HE  is  !  "  said  the  grenadier,  in  answer  to  the  questions 
with  which  the  young  girl  plied  him.  For  a  moment  Julie  was 
absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  that  face,  so  quiet  in  the 
security  of  conscious  power.  The  Emperor  noticed  Mile,  de 
Chatillonest,  and  leaned  to  make  some  brief  remark  to  Duroc, 
which  drew  a  smile  from  the  grand  marshal.  Then  the  review 
began. 

If  hitherto  the  young  lady's  attention  had  been  divided 
between  Napoleon's  impassive  face  and  the  blue,  red,  and 
green  ranks  of  troops,  from  this  time  forth  she  was  wholly 
intent  upon  a  young  officer  moving  among  the  lines  as  they 
performed  their  swift  symmetrical  evolutions.  She  watched 
him  gallop  with  tireless  activity  to  and  from  the  group  where 
the  plainly  dressed  Napoleon  shone  conspicuous.  The  officer 
rode  a  splendid  black  horse.  His  handsome  sky-blue  uniform 
marked  him  out  amid  the  variegated  multitude  as  one  of  the 
Emperor's  orderly  staff-officers.  His  gold  lace  glittered  in 
the  sunshine  which  lighted  up  the  aigrette  on  his  tall,  narrow 
shako,  so  that  the  gazer  might  have  compared  him  to  a  will- 
o'-the  wisp,  or  to  a  visible  spirit  emanating  from  the  Emperor 
to  infuse  movement  into  those  battalions  whose  swaying  bayo- 
nets flashed  into  flames;  for,  at  a  mere  glance  from  his  eyes, 
they  broke  and  gathered  again,  surging  to  and  fro  like  the 
waves  in  a  bay,  or  again  swept  before  him  like  the  long  ridges 
of  high-crested  waves  which  the  vexed  ocean  directs  against 
the  shore. 

When  the  manoeuvres  were  over  the  officer  galloped  back  at 
full  speed,  pulled  up  his  horse,  and  awaited  orders.  He  was 
not  ten  paces  from  Julie  as  he  stood  before  the  Emperor, 
much  as  General  Rapp  stands  in  Gerard's  Battle  of  Austerlitz. 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  11 

The  young  girl  could  behold  her  lover  in  all  his  soldierly 
splendor. 

Colonel  Victor  d' Aiglemont,  barely  thirty  years  of  age,  was 
tall,  slender,  and  well  made.  His  well-proportioned  figure 
never  showed  to  better  advantage  than  now  as  he  exerted  his 
strength  to  hold  in  the  restive  animal,  whose  back  seemed  to 
curve  gracefully  to  the  rider's  weight.  His  brown  masculine 
face  possessed  the  indefinable  charm  of  perfectly  regular  feat- 
ures combined  with  youth.  The  fiery  eyes  under  the  broad 
forehead,  shaded  by  thick  eyebrows  and  long  lashes,  looked 
like  white  ovals  bordered  by  an  outline  of  black.  His  nose 
had  the  delicate  curve  of  an  eagle's  beak  ;  the  sinuous  lines 
of  the  inevitable  black  mustache  enhanced  the  crimson  of  the 
lips.  The  brown  and  tawny  shades  which  overspread  the 
wide  high-colored  cheeks  told  a  tale  of  unusual  vigor,  and  his 
whole  face  bore  the  impress  of  dashing  courage.  He  was  the 
very  model  which  French  artists  seek  to-day  for  the  typical 
hero  of  Imperial  France.  The  horse  which  he  rode  was 
covered  with  sweat ;  the  animal's  quivering  head  denoted  the 
last  degree  of  restiveness;  his  hind  hoofs  were  set  down  wide 
apart  and  exactly  in  a  line  ;  he  shook  his  long  thick  tail  to  the 
wind ;  in  his  fidelity  to  his  master  he  seemed  to  be  a  visible 
presentment  of  that  master's  devotion  to  the  Emperor. 

Julie  saw  her  lover  watching  intently  for  the  Emperor's 
glances,  and  felt  a  momentary  pang  of  jealousy,  for  as  yet 
he  had  not  given  her  a  look.  Suddenly  at  a  word  from  his 
sovereign  Victor  gripped  his  horse's  flanks  and  set  out  at  a 
gallop,  but  the  animal  took  fright  at  a  shadow  cast  by  a  post, 
shied,  backed,  and  reared  up  so  suddenly  that  his  rider  was 
all  but  thrown  off.  Julie  cried  out,  her  face  grew  white, 
people  looked  at  her  curiously,  but  she  saw  no  one,  her  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  too  mettlesome  beast.  The  officer  gave 
the  horse  a  sharp  admonitory  cut  with  the  whip,  and  galloped 
off  with  Napoleon's  order. 

Julie  was  so  absorbed,  so  dizzy  with  sights  and  sounds,  that 


12  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

unconsciously  she  clung  to  her  father's  arm  so  tightly  that  he 
could  read  her  thoughts  by  the  varying  pressure  of  her  fingers. 
When  Victor  was  all  but  flung  out  of  the  saddle,  she  clutched 
her  father  with  a  convulsive  grip  as  if  she  herself  were  in  dan- 
ger of  falling,  and  the  old  man  looked  at  his  daughter's  tell- 
tale face  with  dark  and  painful  anxiety.  Pity,  jealousy, 
something  even  of  regret  stole  across  every  drawn  and 
wrinkled  line  of  mouth  and  brow.  When  he  saw  the  un- 
wonted light  in  Julie's  eyes,  when  that  cry  broke  from  her, 
when  the  convulsive  grasp  of  her  fingers  drew  away  the  veil 
and  put  him  in  possession  of  her  secret,  then  with  that  reve- 
lation of  her  love  there  came  surely  some  swift  revelation  of 
the  future.  Mournful  forebodings  could  be  read  in  his  own 
face. 

Julie's  soul  seemed  at  that  moment  to  have  passed  into  the 
officer's  being.  A  torturing  thought  more  cruel  than  any 
previous  dread  contracted  the  old  man's  pain-worn  features,  as 
he  saw  the  glance  of  understanding  that  passed  between  the 
soldier  and  Julie.  The  girl's  eyes  were  wet,  her  cheeks 
glowed  with  unwonted  color.  Her  father  turned  abruptly  and 
led  her  away  into  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries. 

"Why,  father,"  she  cried,  "  there  are  still  the  regiments  in 
the  Place  du  Carrousel  to  be  passed  in  review." 

"  No,  child,  all  the  troops  are  marching  out." 

"'I  think  you  are  mistaken,  father;  Monsieur  d'Aiglemont 
surely  told  them  to  advance " 

"But  I  feel  ill,  my  child,  and  I  do  not  care  to  stay." 

Julie  could  readily  believe  the  words  when  she  glanced  at 
his  face ;  he  looked  quite  worn  out  by  his  fatherly  anxieties 
and  cares. 

"Are  you  feeling  very  ill?"  she  asked  indifferently,  her 
mind  was  so  full  of  other  thoughts. 

"Every  day  is  a  reprieve  for  me,  is  it  not?"  returned  her 
father. 

"  Now  do  you  mean  to  make  me  miserable  again  by  talking 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  13 

about  your  death  ?     I  was  in  such  spirits  !    Do  pray  get  rid  of 
those  horrid,  gloomy  ideas  of  yours." 

The  father  heaved  a  sigh.  "Ah  !  spoiled  child,"  he  cried, 
"  the  best  hearts  are  sometimes  very  cruel.  We  devote  our 
whole  lives  to  you,  you  are  our  one  thought,  we  plan  for  your 
welfare,  sacrifice  our  tastes  to  your  whims,  idolize  you,  give 
the  very  blood  in  our  veins  for  you,  and  all  this  is  nothing, 
is  it  ?  Alas  !  yes,  you  take  it  all  as  a  matter  of  course.  If  we 
would  always  have  your  smiles  and  your  disdainful  love,  we 
should  need  the  power  of  God  in  heaven.  Then  comes  an- 
other, a  lover,  a  husband,  and  steals  away  your  heart." 

Julie  looked  in  amazement  at  her  father ;  he  walked  slowly 
along,  and  there  was  no  light  in  the  eyes  which  he  turned 
upon  her. 

"You  hide  yourself  even  from  us,"  he  continued,  "but, 
perhaps,  also  you  hide  yourself  from  yourself — • — " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  father?" 

"  I  think  that  you  have  secrets  from  me,  Julie.  You  love," 
he  went  on  quickly,  as  he  saw  the  color  rise  to  her  face. 
"  Oh  !  I  hoped  that  you  would  stay  with  your  old  father  until 
he  died.  I  hoped  to  keep  you  with  me,  still  radiant  and 
happy,  to  admire  you  as  you  were  but  so  lately.  So  long  as  I 
knew  nothing  of  your  future  I  could  believe  in  a  happy  lot  for 
you;  but  now  I  cannot  possibly  take  away  with  me  a  hope  of 
happiness  for  your  life,  for  you  love  the  colonel  even  more 
than  the  cousin.  I  can  no  longer  doubt  it." 

"And  why  should  I  be  forbidden  to  love  him?"  asked 
Julie,  with  lively  curiosity  in  her  face. 

"  Ah,  my  Julie,  you  would  not  understand  me,"  sighed  the 
father. 

"Tell  me,  all  the  same,"  said  Julie,  with  an  involuntary 
petulant  gesture. 

"Very  well,  child,  listen  to  me.  Girls  are  apt  to  imagine 
noble  and  enchanting  and  totally  imaginary  figures  in  their 
own  minds ;  they  have  fanciful  extravagant  ideas  about  men, 


14  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

and  sentiment,  and  life;  and  then  they  innocently  endow 
somebody  or  other  with  all  the  perfections  of  their  day- 
dreams, and  put  their  trust  in  him.  They  fall  in  love  with 
this  imaginary  creature  in  the  man  of  their  choice;  and  then, 
when  it  is  too  late  to  escape  from  their  fate,  behold  their  first 
idol,  the  illusion  made  fair  with  their  fancies,  turns  to  an 
odious  skeleton.  Julie,  I  would  rather  have  you  fall  in  love 
with  an  old  man  than  with  the  colonel.  Ah  !  if  you  could 
but  see  things  from  the  standpoint  of  ten  years  hence,  you 
would  admit  that  my  old  experience  was  right.  I  know  what 
Victor  is,  that  gayety  of  his  is  simply  animal  spirits — the 
gayety  of  the  barracks.  He  has  no  ability,  and  he  is  a  spend- 
thrift. He  is  one  of  those  men  whom  heaven  created  to  eat 
and  digest  four  meals  a  day,  to  sleep,  to  fall  in  love  with  the 
first  woman  that  comes  to  hand,  and  to  fight.  He  does  not 
understand  life.  His  kind  heart,  for  he  has  a  kind  heart,  will 
perhaps  lead  him  to  give  his  purse  to  a  sufferer  or  to  a  com- 
rade ;  but  he  is  careless,  he  has  not  the  delicacy  of  heart  which 
makes  us  slaves  to  a  woman's  happiness,  he  is  ignorant,  he  is 

selfish.     There  are  plenty  of  buts " 

"  But,  father,  he  must  surely  be  clever,  he  must  have  ability, 

or  he  would  not  be  a  colonel " 

"My  dear,  Victor  will  be  a  colonel  all  his  life.  I  have 
seen  no  one  who  appears  to  me  to  be  worthy  of  you,"  the  old 
father  added,  with  a  kind  of  enthusiasm. 

He  paused  an  instant,  looked  at  his  daughter,  and  added, 
"  Why,  my  poor  Julie,  you  are  still  too  young,  too  fragile,  too 
delicate  for  the  cares  and  rubs  of  married  life.  D'Aiglemont's 
relations  have  spoiled  him,  just  as  your  mother  and  I  have 
spoiled  you.  What  hope  is  there  that  you  two  could  agree, 
with  two  imperious  wills  diametrically  opposed  to  each  other? 
You  will  be  either  the  tyrant  or  the  victim,  and  either  alterna- 
tive means,  for  a  wife,  an  equal  sum  of  misfortune.  But  you 
are  modest  and  sweet-natured,  you  would  yield  from  the  first. 
In  short,"  he  added,  in  a  quivering  voice,  "there  is  a  grace 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  15 

of  feeling  in  you  which  would  never  be  valued,  and  then " 

he  broke  off,  for  the  tears  overcame  him. 

"Victor  will  give  you  pain  through  all  the  girlish  qualities 
of  your  young  nature,"  he  went  on,  after  a  pause.  "I  know 
what  soldiers  are,  my  Julie  ;  I  have  been  in  the  army.  In  a 
man  of  that  kind,  love  very  seldom  gets  the  better  of  old 
habits,  due  partly  to  the  miseries  amid  which  soldiers  live, 
partly  to  the  risks  they  run  in  a  life  of  adventure." 

"  Then  do  you  mean  to  cross  my  inclinations,  do  you, 
father?"  asked  Julie,  half  in  earnest,  half  in  jest.  "Am  I  to 
marry  to  please  you  and  not  to  please  myself?  " 

"To  please  me  !  "  cried  her  father,  with  a  start  of  surprise. 
"To  please  me,  child?  when  you  will  not  hear  the  voice  that 
upbraids  you  so  tenderly  very  much  longer  !  But  I  have  always 
heard  children  impute  personal  motives  for  the  sacrifices  that 
their  parents  make  for  them.  Marry  Victor,  my  Julie  !  Some 
day  you  will  bitterly  deplore  his  ineptitude,  his  thriftless  ways, 
his  selfishness,  his  lack  of  delicacy,  his  inability  to  understand 
love,  and  countless  troubles  arising  through  him.  Then,  re- 
member, that  here,  under  these  trees,  your  old  father's  pro- 
phetic voice  sounded  in  your  ears  in  vain." 

He  said  no  more ;  he  had  detected  a  rebellious  shake  of  the 
head  on  his  daughter's  part.  Both  made  several  paces  toward 
the  carriage  which  was  waiting  for  them  at  the  grating. 
During  that  interval  of  silence,  the  young  girl  stole  a  glance 
at  her  father's  face,  and,  little  by  little,  her  sullen  brow 
cleared.  The  intense  pain  visible  on  his  bowed  forehead 
made  a  lively  impression  upon  her. 

"Father,"  she  began  in  gentle,  tremulous  tones,  "I  promise 
to  say  no  more  about  Victor  until  you  have  overcome  your 
prejudices  against  him." 

The  old  man  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  Two  tears 
which  filled  his  eyes  overflowed  down  his  withered  cheeks. 
He  could  not  take  Julie  in  his  arms  in  that  crowded  place; 
but  he  pressed  her  hand  tenderly.  A  few  minutes  later,  when 


16  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

they  had  taken  their  places  in  the  cabriolet,  all  the  anxious 
thought  which  had  gathered  about  his  brow  had  completely 
disappeared.  Julie's  pensive  attitude  gave  him  far  less  con- 
cern than  the  innocent  joy  which  had  betrayed  her  secret 
during  the  review. 

Nearly  a  year  had  passed  since  the  Emperor's  last  review. 
In  early  March,  1814,  a  caleche*  was  rolling  along  the  high 
road  from  Amboise  to  Tours.  As  the  carriage  came  out  from 
beneath  the  green-roofed  aisle  of  walnut-trees  by  the  post-house 
of  La  Frilliere,  the  horses  dashed  forward  with  such  speed  that 
in  a  moment  they  gained  the  bridge  built  across  the  Cise  at 
the  point  of  its  confluence  with  the  Loire.  There,  however, 
they  came  to  a  sudden  stand.  One  of  the  traces  had  given 
way  in  consequence  of  the  furious  pace  at  which  the  post-boy, 
obedient  to  his  orders,  had  urged  on  four  horses,  the  most 
vigorous  of  their  breed.  Chance,  therefore,  gave  the  two  re- 
cently awakened  occupants  of  the  carriage  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  one  of  the  most  lovely  landscapes  along  the  enchanting 
banks  of  the  Loire,  and  that  at  their  full  leisure. 

At  a  glance  the  travelers  could  see  to  the  right  the  whole 
winding  course  of  the  Cise  meandering  like  a  silver  snake 
among  the  meadows,  where  the  grass  had  taken  the  deep, 
bright  green  of  early  spring.  To  the  left  lay  the  Loire  in  all 
its  glory.  A  chill  morning  breeze,  ruffling  the  surface  of  the 
stately  river,  had  fretted  the  broad  sheets  of  water  far  and 
wide  into  a  network  of  ripples,  which  caught  the  gleams  of  the 
sun,  so  that  the  green  islets  here  and  there  in  its  course  shone 
like  gems  set  in  a  gold  necklace.  On  the  opposite  bank  the 
fair  rich  meadows  of  Touraine  stretched  away  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  see ;  the  low  hills  of  the  Cher,  the  only  limits  to  the 
view,  lay  on  the  far  horizon,  a  luminous  line  against  the  clear 
blue  sky.  Tours  itself,  framed  by  the  trees  on  the  islands  in 
a  setting  of  spring  leaves,  seemed  to  rise  like  Venice  out  of 
*  Open  carriage. 


A    WOMAN   OF   THIRTY.  17 

the  waters,  and  her  old  cathedral  towers  soaring  in  air  were 
blended  with  the  pale  fantastic  cloud  shapes  in  the  sky. 

Over  the  side  of  the  bridge,  where  the  carriage  had  come  to 
a  stand,  the  traveler  looks  along  a  line  of  cliffs  stretching  as 
far  as  Tours,  Nature  in  some  freakish  mood  must  have  raised 
these  barriers  of  rock,  undermined  incessantly  by  the  rippling 
Loire  at  their  feet,  for  a  perpetual  wonder  for  spectators. 
The  village  of  Vouvray  nestles,  as  it  were,  among  the  clefts 
and  crannies  of  the  crags,  which  begin  to  describe  a  bend  at 
the  junction  of  the  Loire  and  Cise.  A  whole  population  of 
vine-dressers  lives,  in  fact,  in  appalling  insecurity  in  holes 
in  their  jagged  sides  for  the  whole  way  between  Vouvray  and 
Tours.  In  some  places  there  are  three  tiers  of  dwellings  hol- 
lowed out,  one  above  the  other,  in  the  rock,  each  row  com- 
municating with  the  next  by  dizzy  staircases  cut  likewise  in 
the  face  of  the  cliff.  A  little  girl  in  a  short,  red  petticoat 
runs  out  into  her  garden  on  the  roof  of  another  dwelling ;  you 
can  watch  a  wreath  of  hearth-smoke  curling  up  among  the 
shoots  and  trails  of  the  vines.  Men  are  at  work  in  their  almost 
perpendicular  patches  of  ground,  an  old  woman  sits  tranquilly 
spinning  under  a  blossoming  almond  tree  on  a  crumbling 
mass  of  rock,  and  smiles  down  on  the  dismay  of  the  travelers 
far  below  her  feet.  The  cracks  in  the  ground  trouble  her  as 
little  as  the  precarious  state  of  the  old  wall,  a  pendent  mass 
of  loose  stones,  only  kept  in  position  by  the  crooked  stems 
of  its  ivy  mantle.  The  sound  of  coopers'  mallets  rings 
through  the  skyey  caves  ;  for  here,  where  Nature  stints  human 
industry  of  soil,  the  soil  is  everywhere  tilled,  and  everywhere 
fertile. 

No  view  along  the  whole  course  of  the  Loire  can  compare 
with  the  rich  landscape  of  Touraine,  here  outspread  beneath 
the  traveler's  eyes.  The  triple  picture,  thus  barely  sketched 
in  outline,  is  one  of  those  scenes  which  the  imagination  en- 
graves for  ever  upon  the  memory ;  let  a  poet  fall  under  its 
charm,  and  he  shall  be  haunted  by  visions  which  will  re- 
2 


18  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

produce  its  romantic  loveliness  out  of  the  vague  substance  of 
dreams. 

As  the  carriage  stopped  on  the  bridge  over  the  Cise,  white 
sails  came  out  here  and  there  from  among  the  islands  in  the 
Loire  to  add  new  grace  to  the  perfect  view.  The  subtle  scent 
of  the  willows  by  the  water's  edge  was  mingled  with  the  damp 
odor  of  the  breeze  from  the  river.  The  monotonous  chant  of 
a  goatherd  added  a  plaintive  note  to  the  sound  of  birds'  songs 
in  a  chorus  which  never  ends;  the  cries  of  the  boatmen 
brought  tidings  of  distant  busy  life.  Here  was  Touraine  in 
all  its  glory,  and  the  very  height  of  the  splendor  of  spring. 
Here  was  the  one  peaceful  district  in  France  in  those  troublous 
days ;  for  it  was  so  unlikely  that  a  foreign  army  should  trouble 
its  quiet  that  Touraine  might  be  said  to  defy  invasion. 

As  soon  as  the  caleche  stopped,  a  head  covered  with  a 
foraging  cap  was  put  out  of  the  window,  and  soon  afterward 
an  impatient  military  man  flung  open  the  carriage-door  and 
sprang  down  into  the  road  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  the  postil- 
lion, but  the  skill  with  which  the  Tourangeau  was  repairing 
the  trace  restored  Colonel  d'Aiglemont's  equanimity.  He 
went  back  to  the  carriage,  stretched  himself  to  relieve  his  be- 
numbed muscles,  yawned,  looked  about  him,  and  finally  laid 
a  hand  on  the  arm  of  a  young  woman  warmly  wrapped  up  in 
a  furred  pelisse. 

"Come,  Julie,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "just  wake  up  and  take 
a  look  at  this  country.  It  is  magnificent." 

Julie  put  her  head  out  of  the  window.  She  wore  a  traveling 
cap  of  sable  fur.  Nothing  could  be  seen  of  her  but  her  face, 
for  the  whole  of  her  person  was  completely  concealed  by  the 
folds  of  her  fur  pelisse.  The  young  girl  who  tripped  to  the 
review  at  the  Tuileries  with  light  footsteps  and  joy  and  glad- 
ness in  her  heart  was  scarcely  recognizable  in  Julie  d'Aigle- 
mont.  Her  face,  delicate  as  ever,  had  lost  the  rose-color 
which  once  gave  it  so  rich  a  glow.  A  few  straggling  locks 
of  black  hair,  straightened  out  by  the  damp  night-air,  en- 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  19 

hanced  its  dead  whiteness,  and  all  its  life  and  sparkle  seemed 
to  be  torpid.  Yet  her  eyes  glittered  with  preternatural  bright- 
ness in  spite  of  the  violet  shadows  under  the  lashes  upon  her 
wan  cheeks. 

She  looked  out  with  indifferent  eyes  over  the  fields  toward 
the  Cher,  at  the  islands  in  the  river,  at  the  line  of  the  crags 
of  Vouvray  stretching  along  the  Loire  toward  Tours ;  then 
she  sank  back  as  soon  as  possible  into  her  seat  in  the  caleche. 
She  did  not  care  to  give  a  glance  to  the  enchanting  valley  of 
the  Cise. 

"  Yes,  it  is  wonderful,"  she  said,  and  out  in  the  open  air 
her  voice  sounded  weak  and  faint  to  the  last  degree.  Evi- 
dently she  had  had  her  way  with  her  father,  to  her  misfortune. 

"  Would  you  not  like  to  live  here,  Julie  ?  " 

"  Yes;  here  or  anywhere,"  she  answered  listlessly. 

"Do  you  feel  ill?"  asked  Colonel  d'Aiglemont. 

"No,  not  at  all,"  she  answered  with  momentary  energy ; 
and,  smiling  at  her  husband,  she  added,  "  I  should  like  to  go 
to  sleep." 

Suddenly  there  came  a  sound  of  a  horse  galloping  toward 
them.  Victor  d'Aiglemont  dropped  his  wife's  hand  and  turned 
to  watch  the  bend  in  the  road.  No  sooner  had  he  taken 
his  eyes  from  Julie's  pale  face  than  all  the  assumed  gayety 
died  out  of  it ;  it  was  as  if  a  light  had  been  extinguished. 
She  felt  no  wish  to  look  at  the  landscape,  no  curiosity  to  see 
the  horseman  who  was  galloping  toward  them  at  such  a  furious 
pace,  and,  ensconcing  herself  in  her  corner,  stared  out  before 
her  at  the  hindquarters  of  the  post-horses,  looking  as  blank  as 
any  Breton  peasant  listening  to  his  rector's  sermon. 

Suddenly  a  young  man  riding  a  valuable  horse  came  out 
from  behind  the  clump  of  poplars  and  flowering  briar-rose. 

"It  is  an  Englishman,"  remarked  the  colonel. 

"Lord  bless  you,  yes,  general,"  said  the  post-boy;  "he 
belongs  to  the  race  of  fellows  who  have  a  mind  to  gobble  up 
France,  they  say." 


20  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

The  stranger  was  one  of  the  foreigners  traveling  in  France 
at  the  time  when  Napoleon  detained  all  British  subjects  within 
the  limits  of  the  Empire,  by  way  of  reprisals  for  the  violation 
of  the  Treaty  of  Amiens,  an  outrage  of  international  law  per- 
petrated by  the  court  of  St.  James.  These  prisoners,  com- 
pelled to  submit  to  the  Emperor's  pleasure,  were  not  all 
suffered  to  remain  in  the  houses  where  they  were  arrested,  nor 
yet  in  the  places  of  residence  which  at  first  they  were  per- 
mitted to  choose.  Most  of  the  English  colony  in  Touraine 
had  been  transplanted  thither  from  different  places  where 
their  presence  was  supposed  to  be  inimical  to  the  interests  of 
the  Continental  Policy. 

The  young  man,  who  was  taking  the  tedium  off  the  early 
morning  hours  on  horseback,  was  one  of  these  victims  of 
bureaucratic  tyranny.  Two  years  previously,  a  sudden  order 
from  the  Foreign  Office  had  dragged  him  from  Montpellier, 
whither  he  had  gone  on  account  of  consumptive  tendencies. 
He  glanced  at  the  Comte  d'Aiglemont,  saw  that  he  was  a 
military  man,  and  deliberately  looked  away,  turning  his  head 
somewhat  abruptly  toward  the  meadows  by  the  Cise. 

"  The  English  are  all  as  insolent  as  if  the  globe  belonged 
to  them,"  muttered  the  colonel.  "Luckily,  Soult  will  give 
them  a  thrashing  directly." 

The  prisoner  gave  a  glance  to  the  caleche  as  he  rode  by. 
Brief  though  that  glance  was,  he  had  yet  time  to  notice  the 
sad  expression  which  lent  an  indefinable  charm  to  the  coun- 
tess' pensive  face.  Many  men  are  deeply  moved  by  the  mere 
semblance  of  suffering  in  a  woman  ;  they  take  the  look  of 
pain  for  a  sign  of  constancy  or  of  love.  Julie  herself  was  so 
much  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  the  opposite  cushion 
that  she  saw  neither  the  horse  nor  the  rider.  The  damaged 
trace  meanwhile  had  been  quickly  and  strongly  repaired ;  the 
count  stepped  into  his  place  again  ;  and  the  post-boy,  doing 
his  best  to  make  up  for  lost  time,  drove  the  carriage  rapidly 
along  the  embankment.  On  they  drove  under  the  overhang- 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  21 

ing  cliffs,  with  their  picturesque  vine-dressers'  huts  and  stores 
ofcwine  maturing  in  their  dark  sides,  till  in  the  distance 
uprose  the  spire  of  the  famous  abbey  of  Marmoutiers,  the  re- 
treat of  St.  Martin. 

ft  "What  can  that  diaphanous  milord  want  with  us?"  ex- 
claimed the  colonel,  turning  to  assure  himself  that  the  horse- 
man who  had  followed  them  from  the  bridge  was  the  young 
Englishman. 

After  all,  the  stranger  committed  no  breach  of  good  man- 
ners by  riding  along  on  the  footway,  and  Colonel  d' Aiglemont 
was  fain  to  lie  back  in  his  corner  after  sending  a  scowl  in  the 
Englishman's  direction.  But  in  spite  of  his  hostile  instincts, 
he  could  not  help  noticing  the  beauty  of  the  animal  and  the 
graceful  horsemanship  of  the  rider.  The  young  man's  face 
was  of  that  pale,  fair-complexioned,  insular  type,  which  is 
almost  girlish  in  the  softness  and  delicacy  of  its  color  and 
texture.  He  was  tall,  thin,  and  fair-haired,  dressed  with  the 
extreme  and  elaborate  neatness  characteristic  of  a  man  of 
fashion  in  prudish  England.  Any  one  might  have  thought 
that  bashfulness  rather  than  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  the  countess 
had  called  up  that  flush  into  his  face.  Once  only  Julie  raised 
her  eyes  and  looked  at  the  stranger,  and  then  only  because 
she  was  in  a  manner  compelled  to  do  so,  for  her  husband 
called  upon  her  to  admire  the  action  of  the  thoroughbred. 
It  so  happened  that  their  glances  clashed ;  and  the  shy 
Englishman,  instead  of  riding  abreast  of  the  carriage,  fell 
behind  on  this,  and  followed  them  at  a  distance  of  a  few 
paces. 

Yet  the  countess  had  scarcely  given  him  a  glance ;  she  saw 
none  of  the  various  perfections,  human  and  equine,  com- 
mended to  her  notice,  and  fell  back  again  in  the  carriage 
with  a  slight  movement  of  the  eyelids  intended  to  express  her 
acquiescence  in  her  husband's  views.  The  colonel  fell  asleep 
again,  and  both  husband  and  wife  reached  Tours  without 
another  word.  Not  one  of  those  enchanting  views  of  ever- 


22  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

changing  landscape  through  which  they  sped  had  drawn  so 
much  as  a  glance  from  Julie's  eyes. 

Mme.  d'Aiglemont  looked  now  and  again  at  her  sleeping 
husband.  While  she  looked,  a  sudden  jolt  shook  something 
down  upon  her  knees.  It  was  her  father's  portrait,  a  miniature 
which  she  wore  suspended  about  her  neck  by  a  black  cord. 
At  the  sight  of  it,  the  tears,  till  then  kept  back,  overflowed 
her  eyes,  but  no  one,  save  perhaps  the  Englishman,  saw  them 
glitter  there  for  a  brief  moment  before  they  dried  upon  her 
pale  cheeks. 

Colonel  d'Aiglemont  was  on  his  way  to  the  South.  Marshal 
Soult  was  repelling  an  English  invasion  of  Beam  ;  and  d'Aigle- 
mont, the  bearer  of  the  Emperor's  orders  to  the  marshal, 
seized  the  opportunity  of  taking  his  wife  as  far  as  Tours  to 
leave  her  with  an  elderly  relative  of  his  own,  far  away  from 
the  dangers  threatening  Paris. 

Very  shortly  the  carriage  rolled  over  the  paved  road  of 
Tours,  over  the  bridge,  along  the  Grande-Rue,  and  stopped 
at  last  before  the  old  mansion  of  the  ci-devant  Marquise  de 
Listomere-Landon. 

The  Marquise  de  Listomere-Landon,  with  her  white  hair, 
pale  face,  and  shrewd  smile,  was  one  of  those  fine  old  ladies 
who  still  seem  to  wear  the  paniers  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
and  affect  caps  of  an  extinct  mode.  They  are  nearly  always 
caressing  in  their  manner,  as  if  the  heyday  of  love  still  lin- 
gered on  for  these  septuagenarian  portraits  of  the  age  of 
Louis  Quinze,  with  the  laint  perfume  of  marshal  powder  al- 
ways clinging  about  them.  Bigoted  rather  than  pious,  and 
less  of  bigots  than  they  seem,  women  who  can  tell  a  story  well 
and  talk  still  better,  their  laughter  comes  more  readily  for  an 
old  memory  than  for  a  new  jest — the  present  intrudes  upon 
them. 

When  an  old  waiting-woman  announced  to  the  Marquise  de 
Listomere-Landon  (to  give  her  the  title  which  she  was  soon 
to  resume)  the  arrival  of  a  nephew  whom  she  had  not  seen 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  23 

since  the  outbreak  of  the  war  with  Spain,  the  old  lady  took 
off  her  spectacles  with  alacrity,  shut  the  "  Galerie  de  1'ancienne 
Cour"  (her  favorite  work),  and  recovered  something  like 
youthful  activity,  hastening  out  upon  the  flight  of  steps  to  greet 
.he  young  couple  there. 

Aunt  and  niece  exchanged  a  rapid  glance  of  survey. 

"Good-morning,  dear  aunt,"  cried  the  colonel,  giving  the 
old  lady  a  hasty  embrace.  "  I  am  bringing  a  young  lady  to 
put  under  your  wing.  I  have  come  to  put  my  treasure  in  your 
keeping.  My  Julie  is  neither  jealous  nor  a  coquette,  she  is 
as  good  as  an  angel.  I  hope  that  she  will  not  be  spoiled  here," 
he  added,  suddenly  interrupting  himself. 

"Scapegrace!"  returned  the  marquise,  with  a  satirical 
glance  at  her  nephew. 

She  did  not  wait  for  her  niece  to  approach  her,  but  with  a 
certain  kindly  graciousness  went  forward  herself  to  kiss  Julie, 
who  stood  there  thoughtfully,  to  all  appearance  more  embar- 
rassed than  curious  concerning  her  new  relation. 

"So  we  are  to  make  each  other's  acquaintance,  are  we,  my 
love?"  the  marquise  continued.  "Do  not  be  too  much 
alarmed  of  me.  I  always  try  not  to  be  an  old  woman  with 
young  people." 

On  the  way  to  the  drawing-room,  the  marquise  ordered 
breakfast  for  her  guests  in  provincial  fashion ;  but  the  count 
checked  his  aunt's  flow  of  words  by  saying  soberly  that  he 
could  only  remain  in  the  house  while  the  horses  were  changing. 
On  this  the  three  hurried  into  the  drawing-room.  The  colonel 
had  barely  time  to  tell  the  story  of  the  political  and  military 
events  which  had  compelled  him  to  ask  his  aunt  for  a  shelter 
for  his  young  wife.  While  he  talked  on  without  interruption, 
the  older  lady  looked  from  her  nephew  to  her  niece,  and  took 
the  sadness  in  Julie's  white  face  for  grief  at  the  enforced  sepa- 
ration. "  Eh  !  eh  !  "  her  looks  seemed  to  say,  "  these  young 
things  are  in  love  with  each  other." 

The  crack  of  the  postillion's  whip  sounded  outside  in  the 


24  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

silent  old  grass-grown  courtyard.  Victor  embraced  his  aunt 
once  more  and  rushed  out. 

"Good-by,  dear,"  he  said,  kissing  his  wife,  who  had  fol- 
lowed him  down  to  the  carriage. 

"Oh!  Victor,  let  me  come  still  farther  with  you,"  she 
pleaded  coaxingly.  "I  do  not  want  to  leave  you " 

"  Can  you  seriously  mean  it?" 

"Very  well,"  said  Julie,  "since  you  wish  it."  The  car- 
riage disappeared. 

"So  you  are  very  fond  of  my  poor  Victor? "  said  the  mar- 
quise, interrogating  her  niece  with  one  of  those  sagacious 
glances  which  dowagers  give  younger  women. 

"Alas,  madame !  "  said  Julie,  "  must  one  not  love  a  man 
well  indeed  to  marry  him?" 

The  words  were  spoken  with  an  artless  accent  which  re- 
vealed either  a  pure  heart  or  inscrutable  depths.  How  could 
a  woman,  who  had  been  the  friend  of  Duclos  and  the  Marechal 
de  Richelieu,  refrain  from  trying  to  read  the  riddle  of  this 
marriage?  Aunt  and  niece  were  standing  on  the  steps,  gaz- 
ing after  the  fast-vanishing  caleche.  The  look  in  the  young 
countess'  eyes  did  not  mean  love  as  the  marquise  understood 
it.  The  good  lady  was  a  Provenc.ale,  and  her  passions  had 
been  lively. 

"  So  you  were  captivated  by  my  good-for-nothing  of  a 
nephew?"  she  asked. 

Involuntarily  Julie  shuddered,  something  in  the  experienced 
coquette's  look  and  tone  seemed  to  say  that  Mme.  de  Listo- 
mere-Landon's  knowledge  of  her  husband's  character  went 
perhaps  deeper  than  his  wife's.  Mme.  d'Aiglemont,  in  dis- 
may, took  refuge  in  this  transparent  dissimulation,  ready  to 
her  hand,  the  first  resource  of  an  artless  unhappiness.  Mme. 
de  Listomere  appeared  to  be  satisfied  with  Julie's  answers ;  but 
in  her  secret  heart  she  rejoiced  to  think  that  here  was  a  love 
affair  on  hand  to  enliven  her  solitude,  for  that  her  niece  had 
some  amusing  flirtation  on  foot  she  was  fully  convinced. 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  25 

In  the  great  drawing-room,  hung  with  tapestry  framed  in 
strips  of  gilding,  young  Mme.  d'Aiglemont  sat  before  a  blaz- 
ing fire,  behind  a  Chinese  screen  placed  to  shut  out  the  cold 
draughts  from  the  windows,  and  her  heavy  mood  scarcely 
lightened.  Among  the  old  eighteenth-century  furniture,  under 
the  antique  paneled  ceiling,  it  was  not  very  easy  to  be  gay. 
Yet  the  young  Parisienne  took  a  sort  of  pleasure  in  this  en- 
trance upon  a  life  of  complete  solitude  and  in  the  solemn 
silence  of  the  old  provincial  house.  She  exchanged  a  few 
words  with  the  aunt,  a  stranger,  to  whom  she  had  written  a 
bride's  letter  on  her  marriage,  and  then  sat  as  silent  as  if  she 
had  been  listening  to  an  opera.  Not  until  two  hours  had  been 
spent  in  an  atmosphere  of  quiet  befitting  La  Trappe  did  she 
suddenly  awaken  to  a  sense  of  uncourteous  behavior,  and  be- 
think herself  of  the  short  answers  which  she  had  given  her  aunt. 
Mme.  de  Listomere,  with  the  gracious  tact  characteristic  of  a 
bygone  age,  had  respected  her  niece's  mood.  When  Mme. 
d'Aiglemont  became  conscious  of  her  shortcomings,  the  dow- 
ager sat  knitting,  though  as  a  matter  of  fact  she  had  several 
times  left  the  room  to  superintend  preparations  in  the  Green 
Chamber,  whither  the  countess'  luggage  had  been  transported ; 
now,  however,  she  had  returned  to  her  great  armchair,  and 
stole  a  glance  from  time  to  time  at  this  young  relative.  Julie 
felt  ashamed  of  giving  way  to  irresistible  broodings,  and  tried 
to  earn  her  pardon  by  laughing  at  herself. 

"  My  dear  child,  we  know  the  sorrows  of  widowhood,"  re- 
turned her  aunt.  But  only  the  eyes  of  forty  years  could 
have  distinguished  the  irony  hovering  about  the  old  lady's 
mouth. 

Next  morning  the  countess  improved.  She  talked.  Mme. 
de  Listomere  no  longer  despaired  of  fathoming  the  new-made 
wife,  whom  yesterday  she  had  set  down  as  a  dull,  unsociable 
creature,  and  discoursed  on  the  delights  of  the  country,  of 
dances,  of  houses  where  they  could  visit.  All  that  day  the  mar- 
quise's questions  were  so  many  snares;  it  was  the  old  habit  of 


26  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

the  old  court,  she  could  not  help  setting  traps  to  discover  her 
niece's  character.  For  several  days  Julie,  plied  with  tempta- 
tions, steadfastly  declined  to  seek  amusement  abroad ;  and 
much  as  the  old  lady's  pride  longed  to  exhibit  her  pretty 
niece,  she  was  fain  to  renounce  all  hope  of  taking  her  into 
society,  for  the  young  countess  was  still  in  mourning  for  her 
father,  and  found  in  her  loss  and  her  mourning  dress  a  pretext 
for  her  sadness  and  desire  for  seclusion. 

By  the  end  of  a  week  the  dowager  admired  Julie's  angelic 
sweetness  of  disposition,  her  diffident  charm,  her  indulgent 
temper,  and  thenceforward  began  to  take  a  prodigious  interest 
in  the  mysterious  sadness  gnawing  at  this  young  heart.  The 
countess  was  one  of  those  women  who  seem  born  to  be  loved 
and  to  bring  happiness  with  them.  Mme.  de  Listomere  found 
her  niece's  society  grown  so  sweet  and  precious  that  she  doted 
upon  Julie,  and  could  no  longer  think  of  parting  with  her. 
A  month  sufficed  to  establish  an  eternal  friendship  between 
the  two  ladies.  The  dowager  noticed,  not  without  surprise, 
the  changes  that  took  place  in  Mme.  d'Aiglemont;  gradually 
her  bright  color  died  away  and  her  face  became  dead  white. 
Yet,  Julie's  spirits  rose  as  the  bloom  faded  from  her  cheeks. 
Sometimes  the  dowager's  sallies  provoked  outbursts  of  merri- 
ment or  peals  of  laughter,  promptly  repressed,  however,  by 
some  clamorous  thought. 

Mme.  de  Listomere  had  guessed  by  this  time  that  it  was 
neither  Victor's  absence  nor  a  father's  death  which  threw  a 
shadow  over  her  niece's  life;  but  her  mind  was  so  full  of  dark 
suspicions  that  she  found  it  difficult  to  lay  a  finger  upon  the 
real  cause  of  the  mischief.  Possibly  truth  is  only  discover- 
able by  chance.  A  day  came,  however,  at  length  when  Julie 
flashed  out  before  her  aunt's  astonished  eyes  into  a  complete 
forgetfulness  of  her  marriage ;  she  recovered  the  wild  spirits 
of  careless  girlhood.  Mme.  de  Listomere  then  and  there 
made  up  her  mind  to  fathom  the  depths  of  this  soul,  for  its 
exceeding  simplicity  was  as  inscrutable  as  dissimulation. 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  27 

Night  was  falling.  The  two  ladies  were  sitting  by  the  win- 
dow which  looked  out  upon  the  street,  and  Julie  was  looking 
thoughtful  again,  when  some  one  went  by  on  horseback. 

"There  goes  one  of  your  victims,"  said  the  marquise. 

Mme.  d'Aiglemont  looked  up;  dismay  and  surprise  blended 
in  her  face. 

"  He  is  a  prim  young  Englishman,  the  Honorable  Arthur 
Ormond,  Lord  Grenville's  eldest  son.  His  history  is  inter- 
esting. His  physicians  sent  him  to  Montpellier  in  1802;  it 
was  hoped  that  in  that  climate  he  might  recover  from  the 
lung  complaint  which  was  gaining  ground.  He  was  detained, 
like  all  his  fellow-countrymen,  by  Buonaparte  when  war  broke 
out.  That  monster  cannot  live  without  fighting.  The  young 
Englishman,  by  way  of  amusing  himself,  took  to  studying  his 
own  complaint,  which  was  believed  to  be  incurable.  By  de- 
grees he  acquired  a  liking  for  anatomy  and  physic,  and  took 
quite  a  craze  for  that  kind  of  thing,  a  most  extraordinary  taste 
in  a  man  of  quality,  though  the  Regent  certainly  amused  him- 
self with  chemistry  !  In  short,  Monsieur  Arthur  made  aston- 
ishing progress  in  his  studies;  his  health  did  the  same  under 
the  faculty  of  Montpellier;  he  consoled  his  captivity,  and  at 
the  same  time  his  cure  was  thoroughly  completed.  They  say 
that  he  spent  two  whole  years  in  a  cowshed,  living  on  cresses 
and  the  milk  of  a  cow  brought  from  Switzerland,  breathing  as 
seldom  as  he  could,  and  never  speaking  a  word.  Since  he 
came  to  Tours  he  has  lived  quite  alone;  he  is  as  proud  as  a 
peacock;  but  you  have  certainly  made  a  conquest  of  him,  for 
probably  it  is  not  on  my  account  that  he  has  ridden  under  the 
window  twice  every  day  since  you  have  been  here.  He  has 
certainly  fallen  in  love  with  you." 

That  last  phrase  roused  the  countess  like  magic.  Her  in- 
voluntary start  and  smile  took  the  marquise  by  surprise.  So 
far  from  showing  a  sign  of  the  instinctive  satisfaction  felt  by 
the  most  strait-laced  of  women  when  she  learns  that  she  has 
destroyed  the  peace  of  mind  of  some  male  victim,  there  was  a 


28  A    WOMAN  OF  THIKTY. 

hard,  haggard  expression  in  Julie's  face — a  look  of  repulsion 
amounting  almost  to  loathing. 

A  woman  who  loves  will  put  the  whole  world  under  the  ban 
of  Love's  empire  for  the  sake  of  the  one  whom  she  loves ;  but 
such  a  woman  can  laugh  and  jest ;  and  Julie  at  that  moment 
looked  as  if  the  memory  of  some  recently  escaped  peril  was 
too  sharp  and  fresh  not  to  bring  with  it  a  quick  sensation  of 
pain.  Her  aunt,  by  this  time  convinced  that  Julie  did  not 
love  her  nephew,  was  stupefied  by  the  discovery  that  she  loved 
nobody  else.  She  shuddered  lest  a  further  discovery  should 
show  her  Julie's  heart  disenchanted,  lest  the  experience  of  a 
day,  or  perhaps  of  a  night,  should  have  revealed  to  a  young 
wife  the  full  extent  of  Victor's  emptiness. 

"If  she  has  found  him  out,  there  is  an  end  of  it,"  thought 
the  dowager.  "  My  nephew  will  soon  be  made  to  feel  the 
inconveniences  of  wedded  life." 

The  marquise  now  proposed  to  convert  Julie  to  the  monarch- 
ical doctrines  of  the  times  of  Louis  Quinze;  but  a  few  hours 
later  she  discovered,  or,  more  properly  speaking,  guessed,  the 
not  uncommon  state  of  affairs,  and  the  real  cause  of  her  niece's 
low  spirits. 

Julie  turned  thoughtful  on  a  sudden,  and  went  to  her  room 
earlier  than  usual.  When  her  maid  left  her  for  the  night, 
she  still  sat  by  the  fire  in  the  yellow  velvet  depths  of  a  great 
chair,  an  old-world  piece  of  furniture  as  well  suited  for  sorrow 
as  for  happy  people.  Tears  flowed,  followed  by  sighs  and 
meditation.  After  a  while  she  drew  a  little  table  to  her, 
sought  writing  materials,  and  began  to  write.  The  hours 
went  by  swiftly.  Julie's  confidences  made  to  the  sheet  of 
paper  seemed  to  cost  her  dear ;  every  sentence  set  her  dream- 
ing, and  at  last  she  suddenly  burst  into  tears.  The  clocks 
were  striking  two.  Her  head,  grown  heavy  as  a  dying 
woman's,  was  bowed  over  her  breast.  When  she  raised  it, 
her  aunt  appeared  before  her  as  suddenly  as  if  she  had  stepped 
out  of  the  background  of  tapestry  upon  the  walls. 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  29 

"What  ca£  be  the  matter  with  >ou,  child?"  asked  the 
marquise.  "Why  are  you  sitting  u^»  so  late?  And  why,  in 
the  first  place,  are  you  crying  alone,  at  your  age?" 

Without  further  ceremony  she  sat  down  beside  her  niece, 
her  eyes  the  while  devouring  the  unfinished  letter. 

"  Were  you  writing  to  your  husband  ?  " 

"  Do  I  know  where  he  is  ?  "  returned  the  countess. 

Her  aunt  thereupon  took  up  the  sheet  and  proceeded  to 
read  it.  She  had  brought  her  spectacles ;  the  deed  was  pre- 
meditated. The  innocent  writer  of  the  letter  allowed  her  to 
take  it  without  the  slightest  remark.  It  was  neither  lack  of 
dignity  nor  consciousness  of  secret  guilt  which  left  her  thus 
without  energy.  Her  aunt  had  come  in  upon  her  at  a  crisis. 
She  was  helpless ;  right  or  wrong,  reticence  and  confidence, 
like  all  things  else,  were  matters  of  indifference.  Like  some 
young  maid  who  has  heaped  scorn  upon  her  lover,  and  feels 
so  lonely  and  sad  when  evening  comes  that  she  longs  for  him 
to  come  back  or  for  a  heart  to  which  she  can  pour  out  her 
sorrow,  Julie  allowed  her  aunt  to  violate  the  seal  which  honor 
places  upon  an  open  letter,  and  sat  musing  while  the  marquise 
read  on : 

"  MY  DEAR  LOUISA  : — Why  do  you  ask  so  often  for  the  fulfill- 
ment of  as  rash  a  promise  as  two  young  and  inexperienced 
girls  could  make  ?  You  say  that  you  often  ask  yourself  why 
I  have  given  no  answer  to  your  questions  for  these  six  months. 
If  my  silence  told  you  nothing,  perhaps  you  will  understand 
the  reasons  for  it  to-day,  as  you  read  the  secrets  which  I  am 
about  to  betray.  I  should  have  buried  them  for  ever  in  the 
depths  of  my  heart  if  you  had  not  announced  your  own  ap- 
proaching marriage.  You  are  about  to  be  married,  Louisa. 
The  thought  makes  me  shiver.  Poor  little  one  !  marry,  yes, 
and  in  a  few  months'  time  one  of  the  keenest  pangs  of  regret 
will  be  the  recollection  of  a  self  which  used  to  be,  of  the  two 
young  girls  who  sat  one  evening  under  one  of  the  tallest  oak- 


30  A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY. 

trees  on  the  hillside  at  Ecouen,  and  looked  along  the  fair 
valley  at  our  feet  in  the  light  of  the  sunset,  which  caught  us 
in  its  glow.  We  sat  on  a  slab  of  rock  in  ecstasy,  which 
sobered  down  into  melancholy  of  the  gentlest.  You  were  the 
first  to  discover  that  the  far-off  sun  spoke  to  us  of  the  future. 
How  inquisitive  and  how  silly  we  were  !  Do  you  remember 
all  the  absurd  things  we  said  and  did  ?  We  embraced  each 
other;  'like  lovers,'  said  we.  We  solemnly  promised  that 
the  first  bride  should  faithfully  reveal  to  the  other  the  mys- 
teries of  marriage,  the  joys  which  our  childish  minds  imagined 
to  be  so  delicious.  That  evening  will  complete  your  despair, 
Louisa.  In  those  days  you  were  young  and  beautiful  and 
careless,  if  not  radiantly  happy ;  a  few  days  of  marriage,  and 
you  will  be,  what  I  am  already — ugly,  wretched,  and  old. 
Need  I  tell  you  how  proud  I  was  and  how  vain  and  glad  to  be 
married  to  Colonel  Victor  d'Aiglemont  ?  And,  beside,  how 
could  I  tell  you  now  ?  for  I  cannot  remember  that  old  self. 
A  few  moments  turned  my  girlhood  to  a  dream.  All  through 
the  memorable  day  which  consecrated  a  chain,  the  extent  of 
which  was  hidden  from  me,  my  behavior  was  not  free  from 
reproach.  Once  and  again  my  father  tried  to  repress  my 
spirits ;  the  joy  which  I  showed  so  plainly  was  thought  unbe- 
fitting the  occasion,  my  talk  scarcely  innocent,  simply  because 
I  was  so  innocent.  I  played  endless  child's  tricks  with  my 
bridal  veil,  my  wreath,  my  gown.  Left  alone  that  night  in  the 
room  whither  I  had  been  conducted  in  state,  I  planned  a  piece 
of  mischief  to  tease  Victor.  While  I  awaited  his  coming,  my 
heart  beat  wildly,  as  it  used  to  do  when  I  was  a  child  stealing 
into  the  drawing-room  on  the  last  day  of  the  old  year  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  New  Year's  gifts  piled  up  there  in  heaps. 
When  my  husband  came  in  and  looked  for  me,  my  smothered 
laughter,  ringing  out  from  beneath  the  lace  in  which  I  had 
shrouded  myself,  was  the  last  outburst  of  the  delicious  merri- 
ment which  brightened  our  games  in  childhood " 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  31 

When  the  dowager  had  finished  reading  the  letter,  and 
after  such  a  beginning  the  rest  must  have  been  sad  indeed, 
she  slowly  laid  her  spectacles  on  the  table,  put  the  letter  down 
beside  them,  and  looked  fixedly  at  her  niece.  Age  had  not 
dimmed  the  fire  in  those  green  eyes  as  yet. 

"  My  little  girl,"  she  said,  "  a  married  woman  cannot  write 
such  a  letter  as  this  to  a  young  unmarried  woman ;  it  is 
scarcely  proper " 

"So  I  was  thinking,"  Julie  broke  in  upon  her  aunt.  "I 
felt  ashamed  of  myself  while  you  were  reading  it." 

"  If  a  dish  at  table  is  not  to  our  taste,  there  is  no  occasion 
to  disgust  others  with  it,  child,"  the  old  lady  continued  be- 
nignly, "especially  when  marriage  has  seemed  to  us  all,  from 
Eve  downward,  so  excellent  an  institution.  You  have  no 
mother?" 

The  countess  trembled,  then  she  raised  her  face  meekly, 
and  said — 

"  I  have  missed  my  mother  many  times  already  during  the 
past  year;  but  I  have  myself  to  blame,  I  would  not  listen  to 
my  father.  He  was  opposed  to  my  marriage  ;  he  disapproved 
of  Victor  as  a  son-in-law." 

She  looked  at  her  aunt.  The  old  face  was  lighted  up  with 
a  kindly  look,  and  a  thrill  of  joy  dried  Julie's  tears.  She  held 
out  her  young,  soft  hand  to  the  old  marquise,  who  seemed  to 
ask  for  it,  and  the  understanding  between  the  two  women  was 
completed  by  the  close  grasp  of  their  fingers. 

"Poor  orphan  child!  " 

The  words  came  like  a  final  flash  of  enlightenment  to  Julie. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  she  heard  her  father's  prophetic  voice 
again. 

"Your  hands  are  burning!  Are  they  always  like  this?" 
asked  the  marquise. 

"  The  fever  only  left  me  seven  or  eight  days  ago." 

"You  had  a  fever  upon  you,  and  said  nothing  about  it  to 
me!" 


32  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

"  I  have  had  it  for  a  year,"  said  Julie,  with  a  kind  of  timid 
anxiety. 

"  My  good  little  angel,  then  your  married  life  hitherto  has 
been  one  long  time  of  suffering  ?  " 

Julie  did  not  venture  to  reply,  but  an  affirmative  sign 
revealed  the  whole  truth. 

"  Then  you  are  unhappy? " 

"  Oh !  no,  no,  aunt.  Victor  loves  me,  he  almost  idolizes 
me,  and  I  adore  him,  he  is  so  kind." 

"  Yes,  you  love  him ;  but  you  avoid  him,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"Yes sometimes.     He  seeks  me  too  often." 

"  And  often  when  you  are  alone  you  are  troubled  with  the 
fear  that  he  may  suddenly  break  in  upon  your  solitude?  " 

"  Alas !  yes,  aunt.  But,  indeed,  I  love  him,  I  do  assure 
you." 

"  Do  you  not,  in  your  own  thoughts,  blame  yourself  because 
you  find  it  impossible  to  share  his  pleasures  ?  Do  you  never 
think  at  times  that  marriage  is  a  heavier  yoke  than  an  illicit 
passion  could  be?" 

"  Oh  !  that  is  just  it,"  she  wept.  "  It  is  all  a  riddle  to  me, 
and  can  you  guess  it  all  ?  My  faculties  are  benumbed,  I  have 
no  ideas,  I  can  scarcely  see  at  all.  I  am  weighed  down  by 
vague  dread,  which  freezes  me  till  I  cannot  feel,  and  keeps 
me  in  continual  torpor.  I  have  no  voice  with  which  to  pity 
myself,  no  words  to  express  my  trouble.  I  suffer,  and  I  am 
ashamed  to  suffer  when  Victor  is  happy  at  my  cost." 

"Babyish  nonsense  and  rubbish,  all  of  it !  "  exclaimed  the 
aunt,  and  a  gay  smile,  an  after-glow  of  the  joys  of  her  own 
youth,  suddenly  lighted  up  her  withered  face. 

"And  do  you  too  laugh!"  the  younger  woman  cried 
despairingly. 

"  It  was  just  my  own  case,"  the  marquise  returned  promptly. 
"  And  now  that  Victor  has  left  you,  you  have  become  a  girl 
again,  recovering  a  tranquillity  without  pleasure  and  without 
pain,  have  you  not?" 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  33 

Julie  opened  wide  eyes  of  bewilderment. 

"  In  fact,  my  angel,  you  adore  Victor,  do  you  not?  But 
still  you  would  rather  be  a  sister  to  him  than  a  wife,  and,  in 
short,  your  marriage  is  emphatically  not  a  success?" 

"Well — no,  aunt.     But  why  do  you  smile?" 

"Oh!  you  are  right,  poor  child!  There  is  nothing  very 
amusing  in  all  this.  Your  future  would  be  big  with  more  than 
one  mishap  if  I  had  not  taken  you  under  my  protection,  if 
my  old  experience  of  life  had  not  guessed  the  very  innocent 
cause  of  your  troubles.  My  nephew  did  not  deserve  his  good- 
fortune,  the  blockhead  !  In  the  reign  of  our  well-beloved 
Louis  Quinze,  a  young  wife  in  your  position  would  very  soon 
have  punished  her  husband  for  behaving  like  a  ruffian.  The 
selfish  creature !  The  men  who  serve  under  this  Imperial 
tyrant  are  all  of  them  ignorant  boors.  They  take  brutality 
for  gallantry ;  they  know  no  more  of  women  than  they  know  of 
love ;  and  imagine  that,  because  they  go  out  to  face  death  on 
the  morrow,  they  may  dispense  to-day  with  all  consideration 
and  attentions  for  us.  The  time  was  when  a  man  could  love 
and  die  too  at  the  proper  time.  My  niece,  I  will  form  you. 
I  will  put  an  end  to  this  unhappy  divergence  between  you,  a 
natural  thing  enough,  but  it  would  end  in  mutual  hatred  and 
desire  for  a  divorce,  always  supposing  that  you  did  not  die  on 
the  way  to  despair." 

Julie's  amazement  equaled  her  surprise  as  she  listened  to 
her  aunt.  She  was  surprised  by  her  language,  dimly  divining 
rather  than  appreciating  the  wisdom  of  the  words  she  heard, 
and  very  much  dismayed  to  find  that  this  relative,  out  of  a 
great  experience,  passed  judgment  upon  Victor  as  her  father 
had  done,  though  in  somewhat  milder  terms.  Perhaps  some 
quick  prevision  of  the  future  crossed  her  mind ;  doubtless,  at 
any  rate,  she  felt  the  heavy  weight  of  the  burden  which  must 
inevitably  overwhelm  her,  for  she  burst  into  tears  and  sprang 
to  the  old  lady's  arms.  "  Be  my  mother,"  she  sobbed. 

The  aunt  shed  no  tears.  The  Revolution  had  left  old  ladies 
3 


34  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

of  the  Monarchy  but  few  tears  to  shed.  Love,  in  bygone 
days,  and  the  Terror  at  a  later  time,  had  familiarized  them 
with  extremes  of  joy  and  anguish  in  such  a  sort  that,  amid  the 
perils  of  life,  they  preserved  their  dignity  and  coolness,  a 
capacity  for  sincere  but  undemonstrative  affection  which 
never  disturbed  their  well-bred  self-possession,  and  a  dignity 
of  demeanor  which  a  younger  generation  has  done  very  ill  to 
discard. 

The  dowager  took  Julie  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her  on  the 
forehead  with  a  tenderness  and  pity  more  often  found  in 
women's  ways  and  manner  than  in  their  hearts.  Then  she 
coaxed  her  niece  with  kind,  soothing  words,  assured  her  of  a 
happy  future,  lulled  her  with  promises  of  love,  and  put  her  to 
bed  as  if  she  had  not  been  a  niece,  but  a  daughter,  a  much- 
loved  daughter  whose  hopes  and  cares  she  had  made  her  own. 
Perhaps  the  old  marquise  had  found  her  own  youth  and  inex- 
perience and  beauty  again  in  this  nephew's  wife.  And  the 
countess  fell  asleep,  happy  to  have  found  a  friend,  nay,  a 
mother,  to  whom  she  could  tell  everything  freely. 

Next  morning,  when  the  two  women  kissed  each  other  with 
heartfelt  kindness,  and  that  look  of  intelligence  which  marks 
a  real  advance  in  friendship,  a  closer  intimacy  between  two 
souls,  they  heard  the  sound  of  horsehoofs,  and,  turning  both 
together,  saw  the  young  Englishman  ride  slowly  past  the 
window,  after  his  wont.  Apparently  he  had  made  a  certain 
study  of  the  life  led  by  the  two  lonely  women,  for  he  never 
failed  to  ride  by  as  they  sat  at  breakfast,  and  again  at  dinner. 
His  horse  slackened  pace  of  its  own  accord,  and,  for  the  space 
of  time  required  to  pass  the  two  windows  in  the  room,  its 
rider  turned  a  melancholy  look  upon  the  countess,  who  seldom 
deigned  to  take  the  slightest  notice  of  him.  Not  so  the  mar- 
quise. Minds  not  necessarily  little  find  it  difficult  to  resist  the 
little  curiosity  which  fastens  upon  the  most  trifling  event  that 
enlivens  provincial  life ;  and  the  Englishman's  mute  way  of 
expressing  his  timid,  earnest  love  tickled  Mme.  de  Listomere. 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  35 

For  her  the  periodically  recurrent  glance  became  a  part  of 
the  day's  routine,  hailed  daily  with  new  jests.  As  the  two 
women  sat  down  to  table,  both  of  them  looked  out  at  the  same 
moment.  This  time  Julie's  eyes  met  Arthur's  with  such  a 
precision  of  sympathy  that  the  color  rose  to  her  face.  The 
stranger  immediately  urged  his  horse  into  a  gallop  and  went. 

"What  is  to  be  done,  madame?"  asked  Julie.  "People 
see  this  Englishman  go  past  the  house,  and  they  will  take  it 
for  granted  that  I " 

"Yes,"  interrupted  her  aunt. 

"Well,  then,  could  I  not  tell  him  to  discontinue  his  prom- 
enades?" 

"  Would  not  that  be  a  way  of  telling  him  that  he  was  dan- 
gerous ?  You  might  put  that  notion  into  his  head.  And,  beside, 
can  you  prevent  a  man  from  coming  and  going  as  he  pleases? 
Our  meals  shall  be  served  in  another  room  to-morrow ;  and, 
when  this  young  gentleman  sees  us  no  longer,  there  will  be  an 
end  of  making  love  to  you  through  the  window.  There,  dear 
child,  that  is  how  a  woman  of  the  world  does." 

But  the  measure  of  Julie's  misfortune  was  to  be  filled.  The 
two  women  had  scarcely  risen  from  table  when  Victor's  man 
arrived  in  hot  haste  from  Bourges  with  a  letter  for  the  countess 
from  her  husband.  The  servant  had  ridden  by  unfrequented 
ways. 

Victor  sent  his  wife  news  of  the  downfall  of  the  Empire 
and  the  capitulation  of  Paris.  He  himself  had  gone  over  to 
the  Bourbons,  and  all  France  was  welcoming  them  back  with 
transports  of  enthusiasm.  He  could  not  go  so  far  as  Tours, 
but  he  begged  her  to  come  at  once  to  join  him  at  Orleans, 
where  he  hoped  to  be  in  readiness  with  passports  for  her. 
His  servant,  an  old  soldier,  would  be  her  escort  as  far  as  Or- 
leans ;  he  (Victor)  believed  that  the  road  was  still  open. 

"You  have  not  a  moment  to  lose,  madame,"  said  the  man. 
"  The  Prussians,  Austrians,  and  English  are  about  to  effect  a 
junction  either  at  Blois  or  at  Orleans." 


36  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

A  few  hours  later,  Julie's  preparations  were  made,  and  she 
started  out  upon  her  journey  in  an  old  traveling  carriage  lent 
by  her  aunt. 

"  Why  should  you  not  come  with  us  to  Paris?  "  she  asked, 
as  she  put  her  arms  about  the  marquise.  "Now  that  the 
Bourbons  have  come  back,  you  would  be " 

"  Even  if  there  had  not  been  this  unhoped-for  return,  I 
should  still  have  gone  to  Paris,  my  poor  child,  for  my  advice 
is  only  too  necessary  to  both  you  and  Victor.  So  I  shall 
make  all  my  preparations  for  rejoining  you  there." 

Julie  set  out.  She  took  her  maid  with  her,  and  the  old 
soldier  galloped  beside  the  carriage  as  escort.  At  nightfall, 
as  they  changed  horses  for  the  last  stage  before  Blois,  Julie 
grew  uneasy.  All  the  way  from  Amboise  she  had  heard  the 
sound  of  wheels  behind  them,  a  carriage  following  hers  had 
kept  at  the  same  distance.  She  stood  on  the  step  and  looked 
out  to  see  who  her  traveling  companions  might  be,  and  in  the 
moonlight  saw  Arthur  standing  three  paces  away,  gazing 
fixedly  at  the  chaise  which  contained  her.  Again  their  eyes 
met.  The  countess  hastily  flung  herself  back  in  her  seat,  but 
a  feeling  of  dread  set  her  pulses  throbbing.  It  seemed  to  her, 
as  to  most  innocent  and  inexperienced  young  wives,  that  she 
was  herself  to  blame  for  this  love  which  she  had  all  unwit- 
tingly inspired.  With  this  thought  came  an  instinctive  terror, 
perhaps  a  sense  of  her  own  helplessness  before  aggressive 
audacity.  One  of  a  man's  strongest  weapons  is  the  terrible 
power  of  compelling  a  woman  to  think  of  him  when  her 
naturally  lively  imagination  takes  alarm  or  offense  at  the 
thought  that  she  is  followed. 

The  countess  bethought  herself  of  her  aunt's  advice,  and 
made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  not  stir  from  her  place 
during  the  rest  of  the  journey;  but  every  time  the  horses  were 
changed  she  heard  the  Englishman  pacing  round  the  two  car- 
riages, and  again  upon  the  road  heard  the  importunate  sound 
of  the  wheels  of  his  caleche.  Julie  soon  began  to  think  that, 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  37 

when  once  reunited  to  her  husband,  Victor  would  know  how 
to  defend  her  against  this  singular  persecution. 

"Yet  suppose  that,  in  spite  of  everything,  this  young  man 
does  not  love  me?"  This  was  the  thought  that  came  last 
of  all. 

No  sooner  did  she  reach  Orleans  than  the  Prussians  stopped 
the  chaise.  It  was  wheeled  into  an  innyard  and  put  under  a 
guard  of  soldiers.  Resistance  was  out  of  the  question.  The 
foreign  soldiers  made  the  three  travelers  understand  by  signs 
that  they  were  obeying  orders,  and  that  no  one  could  be 
allowed  to  leave  the  carriage.  For  about  two  hours  the 
countess  sat  in  tears,  a  prisoner  surrounded  by  the  guard, 
who  smoked,  laughed,  and  occasionally  stared  at  her  with 
insolent  curiosity.  At  last,  however,  she  saw  her  captors  fall 
away  from  the  carriage  with  a  sort  of  respect,  and  heard  at 
the  same  time  the  sound  of  horses  entering  the  yard.  An- 
other moment,  and  a  little  group  of  foreign  officers,  with  an 
Austrian  general  at  their  head,  gathered  about  the  door  of 
the  traveling  carriage. 

"Madame,"  said  the  general,  "pray  accept  our  apologies. 
A  mistake  has  been  made.  You  may  continue  your  journey 
withour  fear ;  and  here  is  a  passport  which  will  spare  you  all 
further  annoyance  of  any  kind." 

Tremblingly  the  countess  took  the  paper  and  faltered  out 
some  vague  words  of  thanks.  She  saw  Arthur,  now  wearing 
an  English  uniform,  standing  beside  the  general,  and  could 
not  doubt  that  this  prompt  deliverance  was  due  to  him.  The 
young  Englishman  himself  looked  half-glad,  half-melancholy; 
his  face  was  turned  away,  and  he  only  dared  to  steal  an  oc- 
casional glance  at  Julie's  face. 

Thanks  to  the  passport,  Mme.  d'Aiglemont  reached  Paris 
without  further  misadventure,  and  there  she  found  her  hus- 
band. Victor  d'Aiglemont,  released  from  his  oath  of  allegi- 
ance to  the  Emperor,  had  met  with  a  most  flattering  reception 
from  the  Comte  d'Artois,  recently  appointed  lieutenant-general 


38  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

of  the  kingdom  by  his  brother,  Louis  XVIII.  D'Aiglemont 
received  a  commission  in  the  Life  Guards,  equivalent  to  the 
rank  of  general.  But,  amid  the  rejoicings  over  the  return  of 
the  Bourbons,  fate  dealt  poor  Julie  a  terrible  blow.  The 
death  of  the  Marquise  de  Listomere-Landon  was  an  irreparable 
loss.  The  old  lady  died  of  joy  and  of  an  accession  of  gout  to 
the  heart  when  the  Due  d'Angouldme  came  back  to  Tours, 
and  the  one  living  being  entitled  by  her  age  to  enlighten 
Victor,  the  woman  who,  by  discreet  counsels,  might  have 
brought  about  perfect  unanimity  of  husband  and  wife,  was 
dead ;  and  Julie  felt  the  full  extent  of  her  loss.  Henceforward 
she  must  stand  alone  between  herself  and  her  husband.  But 
she  was  young  and  timid ;  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  the 
result,  or  that  from  the  first  she  would  elect  to  bear  her  lot  in 
silence.  The  very  perfection  of  her  character  forbade  her  to 
venture  to  swerve  from  her  duties  or  to  attempt  to  inquire 
into  the  cause  of  her  sufferings,  for  to  put  an  end  to  them 
would  have  been  to  venture  on  delicate  ground,  and  Julie's 
girlish  modesty  shrank  from  the  thought. 

A  word  as  to  M.  d'Aiglemont's  destinies  under  the  Res- 
toration. 

How  many  men  are  there  whose  utter  incapacity  is  a  secret 
kept  from  most  of  their  acquaintance.  For  such  as  these 
high  rank,  high  office,  illustrious  birth,  a  certain  veneer  of 
politeness,  and  considerable  reserve  of  manner,  or  the  prestige 
of  great  fortunes,  are  but  so  many  sentinels  to  turn  back  critics 
who  would  penetrate  to  the  presence  of  the  real  man.  Such 
men  are  like  kings,  in  that  their  real  figure,  character,  and 
life  can  never  be  known  nor  justly  appreciated,  because  they 
are  always  seen  from  too  near  or  too  far.  Factitious  merit 
has  a  way  of  asking  questions  and  saying  little  ;  and  under- 
stands the  art  of  putting  others  forward  to  save  the  necessity 
of  posing  before  them ;  then,  with  a  happy  knack  of  its  own, 
it  draws  and  attaches  others  by  the  thread  of  the  ruling  passion 
or  self-interest,  keeping  men  of  far  greater  abilities  in  play 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  39 

like  puppets,  and  despising  those  whom  it  has  brought  down 
to  its  own  level.  The  petty  fixed  idea  naturally  prevails;  it 
has  the  advantage  of  persistence  over  the  plasticity  of  great 
thoughts. 

The  observer  who  should  seek  to  estimate  and  appraise  the 
negative  values  of  these  empty  heads  needs  subtlety  rather 
than  superior  wit  for  the  task ;  patience  is  a  more  necessary 
part  of  his  judicial  outfit  than  great  mental  grasp,  cunning 
and  tact  rather  than  any  elevation  or  greatness  of  ideas.  Yet 
skillfully  as  such  usurpers  can  cover  and  defend  their  weak 
points,  it  is  difficult  to  delude  wife  and  mother  and  children 
and  the  house-friend  of  the  family ;  fortunately  for  them, 
however,  these  persons  almost  always  keep  a  secret  which  in 
a  manner  touches  the  honor  of  all,  and  not  unfrequently  go 
so  far  as  to  help  to  foist  the  imposture  upon  the  public.  And 
if,  thanks  to  such  domestic  conspiracy,  many  a  noodle  passes 
current  for  a  man  of  ability,  on  the  other  hand  many  another 
who  has  real  ability  is  taken  for  a  noodle  to  redress  the  balance, 
and  the  total  average  of  this  kind  of  false  coin  in  circulation 
in  the  state  is  a  pretty  constant  quantity. 

Bethink  yourself  now  of  the  part  to  be  played  by  a  clever 
woman  quick  to  think  and  feel,  mated  with  a  husband  of  this 
kind,  and  can  you  not  see  a  vision  of  lives  full  of  sorrow  and 
self-sacrifice?  Nothing  upon  earth  can  repay  such  hearts  so 
full  of  love  and  tender  tact.  Put  a  strong-willed  woman  in 
this  wretched  situation,  and  she  will  force  a  way  out  of  it  for 
herself  by  a  crime,  like  Catherine  II.,  whom  men  nevertheless 
style  "  the  Great."  But  these  women  are  not  all  seated  upon 
thrones,  they  are  for  the  most  part  doomed  to  domestic  un- 
happiness  none  the  less  terrible  because  obscure. 

Those  who  seek  consolation  in  this  present  world  for  their 
woes  often  effect  nothing  but  a  change  of  ills  if  they  remain 
faithful  to  their  duties ;  or  they  commit  a  sin  if  they  break 
the  laws  for  their  pleasure.  All  these  reflections  are  applicable 
to  Julie's  domestic  life. 


40  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

Before  the  fall  of  Napoleon  nobody  was  jealous  of  d'Aigle- 
mont.  He  was  one  colonel  among  many,  an  efficient  orderly 
staff-officer,  as  good  a  man  as  you  could  find  for  a  dangerous 
mission,  as  unfit  as  well  could  be  for  an  important  command. 
D'Aiglemont  was  looked  upon  as  a  dashing  soldier  such  as 
the  Emperor  liked,  the  kind  of  man  whom  his  mess  usually 
calls  "a  good  fellow."  The  Restoration  gave  him  back  his 
title  of  marquis,  and  did  not  find  him  ungrateful ;  he  followed 
the  Bourbons  into  exile  at  Ghent,  a  piece  of  logical  loyalty 
which  falsified  the  horoscope  drawn  for  him  by  his  late  father- 
in-law,  who  predicted  that  Victor  would  remain  a  colonel  all 
his  life.  After  the  Hundred  Days  he  received  the  appoint- 
ment of  lieutenant-general,  and  for  the  second  time  became 
a  marquis ;  but  it  was  M.  d' Aiglemont's  ambition  to  be  a  peer 
of  France.  He  adopted,  therefore,  the  maxims  and  the 
politics  of  the  "  Conservateur,"  cloaked  himself  in  dissimu- 
lation which  hid  nothing  (there  being  nothing  to  hide),  culti- 
vated gravity  of  countenance  and  the  art  of  asking  questions 
and  saying  little,  and  was  taken  for  a  man  of  profound 
wisdom.  Nothing  drew  him  from  his  intrenchments  behind 
the  forms  of  politeness  ;  he  laid  in  a  provision  of  formulas, 
and  made  lavish  use  of  his  stock  of  the  catchwords  coined  at 
need  in  Paris  to  give  fools  the  small  change  for  the  ore  of 
great  ideas  and  events.  Among  men  of  the  world  he  was 
reputed  a  man  of  taste  and  discernment ;  and  as  a  bigoted 
upholder  of  aristocratic  opinions  he  was  held  up  for  a  noble 
character.  If  by  chance  he  slipped  now  and  again  into  his 
old  light-heartedness  or  levity,  others  were  ready  to  discover 
an  undercurrent  of  diplomatic  intention  beneath  his  inanity 
and  silliness.  "Oh!  he  only  says  exactly  as  much  as  he 
means  to  say,"  thought  these  excellent  people. 

So  d'Aiglemont's  defects  and  good  qualities  stood  him  alike 
in  good  stead.  He  did  nothing  to  forfeit  a  high  military 
reputation  gained  by  his  dashing  courage,  for  he  had  never 
been  a  commander-in-chief.  Great  thoughts  surely  were  en- 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  41 

graven  upon  that  manly  aristocratic  countenance,  which  im- 
posed upon  every  one  but  his  own  wife.  And  when  every- 
body else  believed  in  the  Marquis  d'Aiglemont's  imaginary 
talents,  the  marquis  persuaded  himself  before  he  had  done 
that  he  was  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  at  court,  where, 
thanks  to  his  purely  external  qualifications,  he  was  in  favor 
and  taken  at  his  own  valuation. 

At  home,  however,  M.  d'Aiglemont  was  modest.  Instinc- 
tively he  felt  that  his  wife,  young  though  she  was,  was  his 
superior ;  and  out  of  this  involuntary  respect  there  grew  an 
occult  power  which  the  marquise  was  obliged  to  wield  in  spite 
of  all  her  efforts  to  shake  off  the  burden.  She  became  her 
husband's  adviser,  the  director  of  his  actions  and  his  fortunes. 
It  was  an  unnatural  position  ;  she  felt  it  as  something  of  a 
humiliation,  a  source  of  pain  to  be  buried  in  the  depths  of 
her  heart.  From  the  first  her  delicately  feminine  instinct  told 
her  that  it  is  a  far  better  thing  to  obey  a  man  of  talent  than  to 
lead  a  fool ;  and  that  a  young  wife  compelled  to  act  and 
think  like  a  man  is  neither  man  nor  woman,  but  a  being  who 
lays  aside  all  the  charms  of  her  womanhood  along  with  its 
misfortunes,  yet  acquires  none  of  the  privileges  which  our 
laws  give  to  the  stronger  sex.  Beneath  the  surface  her  life 
was  a  bitter  mockery.  Was  she  not  compelled  to  protect  her 
protector,  to  worship  a  hollow  idol,  a  poor  creature  who  flung 
her  the  love  of  a  selfish  husband  as  the  wages  of  her  continual 
self-sacrifice ;  who  saw  nothing  in  her  but  the  woman  ;  and 
who  either  did  not  think  it  worth  while,  or  (wrong  quite  as 
deep)  did  not  think  at  all  of  troubling  himself  about  her 
pleasures,  of  inquiring  into  the  cause  of  her  low  spirits  and 
dwindling  health?  And  the  marquis,  like  most  men  who 
chafe  under  a  wife's  superiority,  saved  his  self-love  by  arguing 
from  Julie's  physical  feebleness  a  corresponding  lack  of  mental 
power,  for  which  he  was  pleased  to  pity  her ;  and  he  would 
cry  out  upon  fate  which  had  given  him  a  sickly  girl  for  a 
wife.  The  executioner  posed,  in  fact,  as  the  victim. 


42  A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY. 

All  the  burdens  of  this  dreary  lot  fell  upon  the  marquise, 
who  still  must  smile  upon  her  foolish  lord,  and  deck  a  house 
of  mourning  with  flowers,  and  make  a  parade  of  happiness  in 
a  countenance  wan  with  secret  torture.  And  with  this  sense 
of  responsibility  for  the  honor  of  both,  with  the  magnificent 
immolation  of  self,  the  young  marquise  unconsciously  acquired 
a  wifely  dignity,  a  consciousness  of  virtue  which  became  her 
safeguard  amid  many  dangers. 

Perhaps,  if  her  heart  were  sounded  to  the  very  depths,  this 
intimate  closely  hidden  wretchedness,  following  upon  her  un- 
thinking girlish  first-love,  had  aroused  in  her  an  abhorrence 
of  passion;  possibly  she  had  no  conception  of  its  rapture,  nor 
of  forbidden  but  frenzied  bliss  for  which  some  women  will 
renounce  all  the  laws  of  prudence  and  the  principles  of  con- 
duct upon  which  society  is  based.  She  put  from  her  like  a 
dream  the  thought  of  bliss  and  tender  harmony  of  love  prom- 
ised by  Mme.  de  Listomere-Landon's  mature  experience,  and 
waited  resignedly  for  the  end  of  her  troubles  with  a  hope  that 
she  might  die  young. 

Her  health  had  declined  daily  since  her  return  from  Tou- 
raine ;  her  life  seemed  to  be  measured  to  her  in  suffering ; 
yet  her  ill-health  was  graceful,  her  malady  seemed  little  more 
than  languor,  and  might  well  be  taken  by  careless  eyes  for  a 
fine  lady's  whim  of  invalidism. 

Her  doctors  had  condemned  her  to  keep  to  the  sofa,  and 
there  among  her  flowers  lay  the  marquise,  fading  as  they  faded. 
She  was  not  strong  enough  to  walk,  nor  to  bear  the  open  air, 
and  only  went  out  in  a  closed  carriage.  Yet  with  all  the 
marvels  of  modern  luxury  and  invention  about  her,  she  looked 
more  like  an  indolent  queen  than  an  invalid.  A  few  of  her 
friends,  half  in  love  perhaps  with  her  sad  plight  and  her  fragile 
look,  sure  of  finding  her  at  home,  and  speculating  no  doubt 
upon  her  future  restoration  to  health,  would  come  to  bring 
her  the  news  of  the  day,  and  keep  her  informed  of  the  thousand 
and  one  small  events  which  fill  life  in  Paris  with  variety. 


A    WOMAN   OF   THIRTY.  43 

Her  melancholy,  deep  and  real  though  it  was,  was  still  the 
melancholy  of  a  woman  rich  in  many  ways.  The  Marquise 
d'Aiglemont  was  like  some  bright  flower,  with  a  dark  insect 
gnawing  at  its  root. 

Occasionally  she  went  into  society,  not  to  please  herself, 
but  in  obedience  to  the  exigencies  of  the  position  which  her 
husband  aspired  to  take.  In  society  her  beautiful  voice  and 
the  perfection  of  her  singing  could  always  gain  the  social  suc- 
cess so  gratifying  to  a  young  woman ;  but  what  was  social  suc- 
cess to  her,  who  drew  nothing  from  it  for  her  heart  or  her 
hopes?  Her  husband  did  not  care  for  rnusic.  And,  more- 
over, she  seldom  felt  at  her  ease  in  salons,  where  her  beauty 
attracted  homage  not  wholly  disinterested.  Her  position  ex- 
cited a  sort  of  cruel  compassion,  a  morbid  curiosity.  She  was 
suffering  from  an  inflammatory  complaint  not  infrequently 
fatal,  for  which  our  nosology  as  yet  has  found  no  name,  a 
complaint  spoken  of  among  women  in  confidential  whispers. 
In  spite  of  the  silence  in  which  her  life  was  spent,  the  cause 
of  her  ill-health  was  no  secret.  She  was  still  but  a  girl  in 
spite  of  her  marriage ;  the  slightest  glance  threw  her  into  con- 
fusion. In  her  endeavor  not  to  blush,  she  was  always  laugh- 
ing, always  apparently  in  high  spirits;  she  would  never  admit 
that  she  was  not  perfectly  well,  and  anticipated  questions  as  to 
her  health  by  shame-stricken  subterfuges. 

In  1817,  however,  an  event  took  place  which  did  much  to 
alleviate  Julie's  hitherto  deplorable  existence.  A  daughter 
was  born  to  her,  and  she  determined  to  nurse  her  child  her- 
self. For  two  years  motherhood,  its  all-absorbing  multipli- 
city of  cares  and  anxious  joys,  made  life  less  hard  for  her. 
She  and  her  husband  lived  necessarily  apart.  Her  physicians 
predicted  improved  health,  but  the  marquise  herself  put  no 
faith  in  these  auguries  based  on  theory.  Perhaps,  like  many 
a  one  for  whom  life  has  lost  its  sweetness,  she  looked  forward 
to  death  as  a  happy  termination  of  the  drama. 

But  with  the  beginning  of  the  year  1819  life  grew  harder 


44  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

than  ever.  Even  while  she  congratulated  herself  upon  the 
negative  happiness  which  she  had  contrived  to  win,  she  caught 
a  terrifying  glimpse  of  yawning  depths  below  it.  She  had 
passed  by  degrees  out  of  her  husband's  life.  Her  fine  tact 
and  her  prudence  told  her  that  misfortune  must  come,  and 
that  not  singly,  of  this  cooling  of  an  affection  already  luke- 
warm and  wholly  selfish.  Sure  though  she  was  of  her  ascen- 
dency over  Victor,  and  certain  as  she  felt  of  his  unalterable 
esteem,  she  dreaded  the  influence  of  unbridled  passions  upon 
a  head  so  empty,  so  full  of  rash  self-conceit. 

Julie's  friends  often  found  her  absorbed  in  prolonged 
musings;  the  less  clairvoyant  among  them  would  jestingly  ask 
her  what  she  was  thinking  about,  as  if  a  young  wife  would 
think  of  nothing  but  frivolity,  as  if  there  were  not  almost  al- 
ways a  depth  of  seriousness  in  a  mother's  thoughts.  Unhap- 
piness,  like  great  happiness,  induces  dreaming.  Sometimes  as 
Julie  played  with  her  little  Helene,  she  would  gaze  darkly  at 
her,  giving  no  reply  to  the  childish  questions  in  which  a  mother 
delights,  questioning  the  present  and  the  future  as  to  the  destiny 
of  this  little  one.  Then  some  sudden  recollection  would  bring 
back  the  scene  of  the  review  at  theTuileries  and  fill  her  eyes  with 
tears.  Her  father's  prophetic  warnings  rang  in  her  ears,  and 
conscience  reproached  her  that  she  had  not  recognized  its 
wisdom.  Her  troubles  had  all  come  of  her  own  wayward 
folly,  and  often  she  knew  not  which  among  so  many  was  the 
hardest  to  bear.  The  sweet  treasures  of  her  soul  were  un- 
heeded, and  not  only  so,  she  could  never  succeed  in  making 
her  husband  understand  her,  even  in  the  commonest  every- 
day things.  Just  as  the  power  to  love  developed  and  grew 
strong  and  active,  a  legitimate  channel  for  the  affections  of 
her  nature  was  denied  her,  and  wedded  love  was  extinguished 
in  grave  physical  and  mental  sufferings.  Add  to  this  that  she 
now  felt  for  her  husband  that  pity  closely  bordering  upon  con- 
tempt, which  withers  all  affection  at  last.  Even  if  she  had 
not  learned  from  conversations  with  some  of  her  friends,  from 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  45 

examples  in  life,  from  sundry  occurrences  in  the  great  world, 
that  love  can  bring  ineffable  bliss,  her  own  wounds  would  have 
taught  her  to  divine  the  pure  and  deep  happiness  which  binds 
two  kindred  souls  each  to  each. 

In  the  picture  which  her  memory  traced  of  the  past,  Ar- 
thur's frank  face  stood  out  daily  nobler  and  purer ;  it  was  but 
a  flash,  for  upon  that  recollection  she  dared  not  dwell.  The 
young  Englishman's  shy,  silent  love  for  her  was  the  one  event 
since  her  marriage  which  had  left  a  lingering  sweetness  in  her 
darkened  and  lonely  heart.  It  may  be  that  all  the  blighted 
hopes,  all  the  frustrated  longings  which  gradually  clouded 
Julie's  mind,  gathered,  by  a  not  unnatural  trick  of  imagina- 
tion, about  this  man — whose  very  manners,  sentiments,  and 
character  seemed  to  have  so  much  in  common  with  her  own. 
This  idea  still  presented  itself  to  her  mind  fitfully  and  vaguely, 
like  a  dream  ;  yet  from  that  dream,  which  always  ended  in  a 
sigh,  Julie  awoke  to  greater  wretchedness,  to  keener  con- 
sciousness of  the  latent  anguish  brooding  beneath  her  imagi- 
nary bliss. 

Occasionally  her  self-pity  took  wilder  and  more  daring 
flights.  She  determined  to  have  happiness  at  any  cost ;  but 
still  more  often  she  lay  a  helpless  victim  of  an  indescribable 
numbing  stupor,  the  words  she  heard  had  no  meaning  to  her, 
or  the  thoughts  which  arose  in  her  mind  were  so  vague  and 
indistinct  that  she  could  not  find  language  to  express  them. 
Balked  of  the  wishes  of  her  heart,  realities  jarred  harshly 
upon  her  girlish  dreams  of  life,  but  she  was  obliged  to  devour 
her  tears.  To  whom  could  she  make  complaint?  Of  whom 
be  understood  ?  She  possessed,  moreover,  that  highest  degree 
of  woman's  sensitive  pride,  the  exquisite  delicacy  of  feeling 
which  silences  useless  complainings  and  declines  to  use  an 
advantage  to  gain  a  triumph  which  can  only  humiliate  both 
victor  and  vanquished. 

Julie  tried  to  endow  M.  d'Aiglemont  with  her  own  abilities 
and  virtues,  flattering  herself  that  thus  she  might  enjoy  the 


46  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

happiness  lacking  in  her  lot.  All  her  woman's  ingenuity  and 
tact  was  employed  in  making  the  best  of  the  situation  ;  pure 
waste  of  pains  unsuspected  by  him,  whom  she  thus  strength- 
ened in  his  despotism.  There  were  moments  when  misery 
became  an  intoxication,  expelling  all  ideas,  all  self-control ; 
but,  fortunately,  sincere  piety  always  brought  her  back  to  one 
supreme  hope ;  she  found  a  refuge  in  the  belief  in  a  future 
life,  a  wonderful  thought  which  enabled  her  to  take  up  her 
painful  task  afresh.  No  elation  of  victory  followed  those 
terrible  inward  battles  and  throes  of  anguish ;  no  one  knew 
of  those  long  hours  of  sadness ;  her  haggard  glances  met  no 
response  from  human  eyes,  and  during  the  brief  moments 
snatched  by  chance  for  weeping,  her  bitter  tears  fell  unheeded 
and  in  solitude. 

One  evening  in  January,  1820,  the  marquise  became  aware 
of  the  full  gravity  of  a  crisis,  gradually  brought  on  by  force 
of  circumstances.  When  a  husband  and  wife  know  each 
other  thoroughly,  and  their  relation  has  long  been  a  matter 
of  use  and  wont,  when  the  wife  has  learned  to  interpret  every 
slightest  sign,  when  her  quick  insight  discerns  thoughts  and 
facts  which  her  husband  keeps  from  her,  a  chance  word,  or  a 
remark  so  carelessly  let  fall  in  the  first  instance,  seems,  upon 
subsequent  reflection,  like  the  swift  breaking  out  of  light.  A 
wife  not  seldom  suddenly  awakes  upon  the  brink  of  a  preci- 
pice or  in  the  depths  of  the  abyss ;  and  thus  it  was  with  the 
marquise.  She  was  feeling  glad  to  have  been  left  to  herself 
for  some  days,  when  the  real  reason  of  her  solitude  flashed 
upon  her.  Her  husband,  whether  fickle  and  tired  of  her  or 
generous  and  full  of  pity  for  her,  was  hers  no  longer. 

In  the  moment  of  that  discovery  she  forgot  herself,  her 
sacrifices,  all  that  she  had  passed  through,  she  remembered  only 
that  she  was  a  mother.  Looking  forward,  she  thought  of  her 
daughter's  fortune,  of  the  future  welfare  of  the  one  creature 
through  whom  some  gleams  of  happiness  came  to  her,  of  her 
Helene,  the  only  possession  which  bound  her  to  life. 


A    WOMAN    OF  THIRTY.  47 

Then  Julie  wished  to  live  to  save  her  child  from  a  step- 
mother's terrible  thralldom,  which  might  crush  her  darling's 
life.  Upon  this  new  vision  of  threatened  possibilities  followed 
one  of  those  paroxysms  of  thought  at  fever-heat  which  con- 
sume whole  years  of  life. 

Henceforward  husband  and  wife  were  doomed  to  be  sepa- 
rated by  a  whole  world  of  thought,  and  all  the  weight  of  that 
world  she  must  bear  alone.  Hitherto  she  had  felt  sure  that 
Victor  loved  her,  in  so  far  as  he  could  be  said  to  love ;  she 
had  been  the  slave  of  his  pleasures  which  she  did  not 
share ;  to-day  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  she  pur- 
chased his  contentment  with  her  tears  was  hers  no  longer. 
She  was  alone  in  the  world,  nothing  was  left  to  her  now  but 
a  choice  of  evils.  In  the  calm  stillness  of  the  night  her 
despondency  drained  her  of  all  her  strength.  She  rose  from 
her  sofa  beside  the  dying  fire  and  stood  in  the  lamplight 
gazing,  dry-eyed,  at  her  child,  when  M.  d'Aiglemont  came 
in.  He  was  in  high  spirits.  Julie  called  to  him  to  admire 
Helene  as  she  lay  asleep,  but  he  met  his  wife's  enthusiasm 
with  a  commonplace — 

"  All  children  are  nice  at  that  age." 

He  closed  the  curtain  about  the  cot  after  a  careless  kiss 
on  the  child's  forehead.  Then  he  turned  his  eyes  on  Julie, 
took  her  hand  and  drew  her  to  sit  beside  him  on  the  sofa, 
where  she  had  been  sitting  with  such  dark  thoughts  surging 
up  in  her  mind. 

"  You  are  looking  very  handsome  to-night,  Mme.  d'Aigle- 
mont," he  exclaimed,  with  the  gayety  intolerable  to  the 
marquise,  who  knew  its  emptiness  so  well. 

"Where  have  you  spent  the  evening?"  she  asked,  with  a 
pretense  of  complete  indifference. 

"At  Madame  de  Serizy's." 

He  had  taken  up  a  fire-screen  and  was  looking  intently  at 
the  gauze.  He  had  not  noticed  the  traces  of  tears  on  his 
wife's  face.  Julie  shuddered.  Words  could  not  express  the 


48  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

overflowing  torrent  of  thoughts  which  must  be  forced  down 
into  inner  depths. 

"Madame  de  Serizy  is  giving  a  concert  on  Monday,  and 
is  dying  for  you  to  go.  You  have  not  been  anywhere  for 
some  time  past,  and  that  is  enough  to  set  her  longing  to  see 
you  at  her  house.  She  is  a  good-natured  woman,  and  very 
fond  of  you.  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  go ;  I  all  but 
promised  that  you  should " 

"I  will  go." 

There  was  something  so  penetrating,  so  significant  in  the 
tones  of  Julie's  voice,  in  her  accent,  in  the  glance  that  went 
with  the  words,  that  Victor,  startled  out  of  his  indifference, 
stared  at  his  wife  in  astonishment. 

That  was  all.  Julie  had  guessed  that  it  was  Mme.  de  Serizy 
who  had  stolen  her  husband's  heart  from  her.  Her  brooding 
despair  benumbed  her.  She  appeared  to  be  deeply  interested 
in  the  fire.  Victor  meanwhile  still  played  with  the  fire-screen. 
He  looked  bored,  like  a  man  who  has  enjoyed  himself  else- 
where, and  brought  home  the  consequent  lassitude.  He 
yawned  once  or  twice,  then  he  took  up  a  candle  in  one  hand, 
and  with  the  other  languidly  sought  his  wife's  neck  for  the 
usual  embrace ;  but  Julie  stooped  and  received  the  good-night 
kiss  upon  her  forehead ;  the  formal,  loveless  grimace  seemed 
hateful  to  her  at  that  moment. 

As  soon  as  the  door  closed  upon  Victor,  his  wife  sank  into 
a  seat.  Her  limbs  tottered  beneath  her,  she  burst  into  tears. 
None  but  those  who  have  endured  the  torture  of  some  such 
scene  can  fully  understand  the  anguish  that  it  means  or  divine 
the  horror  of  the  long-drawn  tragedy  arising  out  of  it. 

Those  simple,  foolish  words,  the  silence  that  followed  be- 
tween the  husband  and  wife,  the  marquis'  gesture  and  expres- 
sion, the  way  in  which  he  sat  before  the  fire,  his  attitude  as 
he  made  that  futile  attempt  to  put  a  kiss  on  his  wife's  throat, 
all  these  things  made  up  a  dark  hour  for  Julie,  and  the  catas- 
trophe of  the  drama  of  her  sad  and  lonely  life.  In  her  mad- 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  49 

ness  she  knelt  down  before  the  sofa,  burying  her  face  in  it  to 
shut  out  everything  from  sight,  and  prayed  to  heaven,  putting 
a  new  significance  into  the  words  of  the  evening  prayer,  till  it 
became  a  cry  from  the  depths  of  her  own  soul,  which  would 
have  gone  to  her  husband's  heart  if  he  had  heard  it. 

The  following  week  she  spent  in  deep  thought  for  her  future, 
utterly  overwhelmed  by  this  new  trouble.  She  made  a  study 
of  it,  trying  to  discover  a  way  to  regain  her  ascendency  over 
the  marquis,  scheming  how  to  live  long  enough  to  watch  over 
her  daughter's  happiness,  yet  to  live  true  to  her  own  heart. 
Then  she  made  up  her  mind.  She  would  struggle  with  her 
rival.  She  would  shine  once  more  in  society.  She  would 
feign  the  love  which  she  could  no  longer  feel,  she  would  cap- 
tivate her  husband's  fancy ;  and,  when  she  had  lured  him  into 
her  power,  she  would  coquet  with  him  like  a  capricious  mis- 
tress who  takes  delight  in  tormenting  a  lover.  This  hateful 
strategy  was  the  only  possible  way  out  of  her  troubles.  In 
this  way  she  would  become  mistress  of  the  situation ;  she  would 
prescribe  her  own  sufferings  at  her  good  pleasure,  and  reduce 
them  by  enslaving  her  husband  and  bringing  him  under  a 
tyrannous  yoke.  She  felt  not  the  slightest  remorse  for  the 
hard  life  which  he  should  lead.  At  a  bound  she  reached  cold, 
calculating  indifference — for  her  daughter's  sake.  She  had 
gained  a  sudden  insight  into  the  treacherous,  lying  arts  of 
degraded  women;  the  wiles  of  coquetry,  the  revolting  cun- 
ning which  arouses  such  profound  hatred  in  men  at  the  mere 
suspicion  of  innate  corruption  in  a  woman. 

Julie's  feminine  vanity,  her  interests,  and  a  vague  desire 
to  inflict  punishment,  all  wrought  unconsciously  with  the 
mother's  love  within  her  to  force  her  into  a  path  where  new 
sufferings  awaited  her.  But  her  nature  was  too  noble,  her 
mind  too  fastidious,  and,  above  all  things,  too  open,  to  be 
the  accomplice  of  these  frauds  for  very  long.  Accustomed  as 
she  was  to  self-scrutiny,  at  the  first  step  in  vice — for  vice  it 
was — the  cry  of  conscience  must  inevitably  drown  the  clamor 
4 


50  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

of  the  passions  and  of  selfishness.  Indeed,  in  a  young  wife 
whose  heart  is  still  pure,  whose  love  has  never  been  mated, 
the  very  sentiment  of  motherhood  is  overpowered  by  modesty. 
Modesty ;  is  not  all  womanhood  summed  up  in  that  ?  But  just 
now  Julie  would  not  see  any  danger,  anything  wrong,  in  her 
new  life. 

She  went  to  Mme.  de  Serizy's  concert.  Her  rival  had  ex- 
pected to  see  a  pallid,  drooping  woman.  The  marquise  wore 
rouge,  and  appeared  in  all  the  splendor  of  a  toilet  which  en- 
hanced her  beauty. 

Mme.  de  Serizy  was  one  of  those  women  who  claim  to  ex- 
ercise a  sort  of  sway  over  fashions  and  society  in  Paris ;  she 
issued  her  decrees,  saw  them  received  in  her  own  circle,  and 
it  seemed  to  her  that  all  the  world  obeyed  them.  She  aspired 
to  epigram,  she  set  up  for  an  authority  in  matters  of  taste. 
Literature,  politics,  men  and  women,  all  alike  were  submitted 
to  her  censorship,  and  the  lady  herself  appeared  to  defy  the 
censorship  of  others.  Her  house  was  in  every  respect  a  model 
of  good  taste. 

Julie  triumphed  over  the  countess  in  her  own  salon,  filled 
as  it  was  with  beautiful  women  and  women  of  fashion.  Julie's 
liveliness  and  sparkling  wit  gathered  all  the  most  distinguished 
men  in  the  rooms  about  her.  Her  costume  was  faultless,  to 
the  despair  of  the  women,  who  one  and  all  envied  her  the 
fashion  of  her  dress,  and  attributed  the  moulded  outline  of 
her  bodice  to  the  genius  of  some  unknown  dressmaker,  for 
women  would  rather  believe  in  miracles  worked  by  the  science 
of  chiffons  than  in  the  grace  and  perfection  of  the  form 
beneath. 

When  Julie  went  to  the  piano  to  sing  Desdemona's  song, 
the  men  in  the  rooms  flocked  about  her  to  hear  the  celebrated 
voice  so  long  mute,  and  there  was  a  deep  silence.  The  mar- 
quise saw  the  heads  clustered  thickly  in  the  doorways,  saw  all 
eyes  turned  upon  her,  and  a  sharp  thrill  of  excitement  quivered 
through  her.  She  looked  for  her  husband,  gave  him  a  coquet- 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  51 

tish  side-glance,  and  it  pleased  her  to  see  that  his  vanity  was 
gratified  to  no  small  degree.  In  the  joy  of  triumph  she  sang 
the  first  part  of  "Al  piu  salice."  Her  audience  was  enrap- 
tured. Never  had  Malibran  or  Pasta  sung  with  expression  and 
intonation  so  perfect.  But  at  the  beginning  of  the  second  part 
she  glanced  over  the  listening  groups  and  saw — Arthur.  He 
never  took  his  eyes  from  her  face.  A  quick  shudder  thrilled 
through  her,  and  her  voice  faltered.  Up  hurried  Mme.  de 
Serizy  from  her  place. 

"  What  is  it,  dear?  Oh  !  poor  little  thing  !  she  is  in  such 
weak  health ;  I  was  so  afraid  when  I  saw  her  begin  a  piece  so 
far  beyond  her  strength." 

The  song  was  interrupted.  Julie  was  vexed.  She  had  not 
courage  to  sing  any  longer,  and  submitted  to  her  rival's 
treacherous  sympathy.  There  was  a  whisper  among  the 
women.  The  incident  led  to  discussions  ;  they  guessed  that 
the  struggle  had  begun  between  the  marquise  and  Mme.  de 
Serizy,  and  their  tongues  did  not  spare  the  latter. 

Julie's  strange,  perturbing  presentiments  were  suddenly 
realized.  Through  her  preoccupation  with  Arthur  she  had 
loved  to  imagine  that  with  that  gentle,  refined  face  he  must 
remain  faithful  to  his  first-love.  There  were  times  when  she 
felt  proud  that  this  ideal,  pure,  and  passionate  young  love 
should  have  been  hers ;  the  passion  of  the  young  lover  whose 
thoughts  are  all  for  her  to  whom  he  dedicates  every  moment 
of  his  life,  who  blushes  as  a  woman  blushes,  thinks  as  a  woman 
might  think,  forgetting  ambition,  fame,  and  fortune  in  devo- 
tion to  his  love — she  need  never  fear  a  rival.  All  these  things 
she  had  fondly  and  idly  dreamed  of  Arthur ;  now  all  at  once 
it  seemed  to  her  that  her  dream  had  come  true.  In  the  young 
Englishman's  half-feminine  face  she  read  the  same  deep 
thoughts,  the  same  pensive  melancholy,  the  same  passive  ac- 
quiescence in  a  painful  lot,  and  an  endurance  like  her  own. 
She  saw  herself  in  him.  Trouble  and  sadness  are  the  most 
eloquent  of  love's  interpreters,  and  response  is  marvelously 


52  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

swift  between  two  suffering  creatures,  for  in  them  the  powers 
of  intuition  and  of  assimilation  of  facts  and  ideas  are  well- 
nigh  unerring  and  perfect.  So  with  the  violence  of  the  shock 
the  marquise's  eyes  were  opened  to  the  whole  extent  of  the 
future  danger.  She  was  only  too  glad  to  find  a  pretext  for 
her  nervousness  in  her  chronic  ill-health,  and  willingly  sub- 
mitted to  be  overwhelmed  by  Mme.  de  Serizy's  insidious  com- 
passion. 

That  incident  of  the  song  caused  talk  and  discussion  which 
differed  with  the  various  groups.  Some  pitied  Julie's  fate, 
and  regretted  that  such  a  remarkable  woman  was  lost  to 
society ;  others  fell  to  wondering  what  the  cause  of  her  ill- 
health  and  seclusion  could  be. 

"Well,  now,  my  dear  Ronquerolles,"  said  the  marquis, 
addressing  Mme.  de  Serizy's  brother,  "  you  used  to  envy  me 
my  good-fortune,  and  you  used  to  blame  me  for  my  infideli- 
ties. Pshaw,  you  would  not  find  much  to  envy  in  my  lot  if, 
like  me,  you  had  a  pretty  wife  so  fragile  that  for  the  past  two 
years  you  might  not  so  much  as  kiss  her  hand  for  fear  of 
damaging  her.  Do  not  you  encumber  yourself  with  one  of 
these  fragile  ornaments,  only  fit  to  put  in  a  glass  case,  so 
brittle  and  so  costly  that  you  are  always  obliged  to  be  careful 
of  them.  They  tell  me  that  you  are  afraid  of  snow  or  wet  for 
that  fine  horse  of  yours;  how  often  do  you  ride  him?  That 
is  just  my  own  case.  It  is  true  that  my  wife  gives  me  no 
ground  for  jealousy,  but  my  marriage  is  a  purely  ornamental 
business ;  if  you  think  that  I  am  a  married  man,  you  are  grossly 
mistaken.  So  there  is  some  excuse  for  my  unfaithfulness.  I 
should  dearly  like  to  know  what  you  gentlemen  who  laugh  at 
me  would  do  in  my  place.  Not  many  men  would  be  so  con- 
siderate as  I  am.  I  am  sure"  (here  he  lowered  his  voice) 
"that  Mme.  d'Aiglemont  suspects  nothing.  And  then,  of 
course,  I  have  no  right  to  complain  at  all ;  I  am  very  well  off. 
Only  there  is  nothing  more  trying  for  a  man  who  feels  things 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  53 

than  the  sight  of  suffering  in  a  poor  creature  to  whom  you  are 
attached " 

"You  must  have  a  very  sensitive  nature,  then,"  said  M.  de 
Ronquerolles,  "  for  you  are  not  often  at  home." 

Laughter  followed  on  the  friendly  epigram  ;  but  Arthur, 
who  made  one  of  the  group,  maintained  a  frigid  imperturba- 
bility in  his  quality  of  an  English  gentleman  who  takes  gravity 
for  the  very  basis  of  his  being.  D' Aiglemont's  eccentric  con- 
fidence, no  doubt,  had  kindled  some  kind  of  hope  in  Arthur, 
for  he  stood  patiently  awaiting  an  opportunity  of  a  word  with 
the  marquis.  He  had  not  long  to  wait. 

"  My  lord  marquis,"  he  said,  "  I  am  unspeakably  pained  to 
see  the  state  of  Madame  d'Aiglemont's  health.  I  do  not 
think  that  you  would  talk  jestingly  about  it  if  you  knew  that 
unless  she  adopts  a  certain  course  of  treatment  she  must  die 
miserably.  If  I  use  this  language  to  you,  it  is  because  I  am 
in  a  manner  justified  in  using  it,  for  I  am  quite  certain  that  I 
can  save  Madame  d'Aiglemont's  life  and  restore  her  to  health 
and  happiness.  It  is  odd,  no  doubt,  that  a  man  of  my  rank 
should  be  a  physician,  yet  nevertheless  chance  determined 
that  I  should  study  medicine.  I  find  life  dull  enough  here," 
he  continued,  affecting  a  cold  selfishness  to  gain  his  ends; 
"  it  makes  no  difference  to  me  whether  I  spend  my  time  and 
travel  for  the  benefit  of  a  suffering  fellow-creature  or  waste  it 
in  Paris  on  some  nonsense  or  other.  It  is  very,  very  seldom 
that  a  cure  is  completed  in  these  complaints,  for  they  require 
constant  care,  time,  and  patience,  and,  above  all  things, 
money.  Travel  is  needed,  and  a  punctilious  following  out 
of  prescriptions,  by  no  means  unpleasant,  and  varied  daily. 
Two  gentlemen"  (laying  a  stress  on  the  word  in  its  English 
sense)  "  can  understand  each  other.  I  give  you  warning  that, 
if  you  accept  my  proposal,  you  shall  be  a  judge  of  my  conduct 
at  every  moment.  I  will  do  nothing  without  consulting  you, 
without  your  superintendence,  and  I  will  answer  for  the 
success  of  my  method  if  you  will  consent  to  follow  it.  Yes, 


54  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

unless  you  wish  to  be  Madame  d'Aiglemont's  husband  no 
longer,  and  that  before  long,"  he  added  in  the  marquis'  ear. 

The  marquis  laughed.  "  One  thing  is  certain — that  only 
an  Englishman  could  make  me  such  an  extraordinary  pro- 
posal," he  said.  "Permit  me  to  leave  it  unaccepted  and 
unrejected.  I  will  think  it  over;  and  my  wife  must  be  con- 
sulted first  in  any  case." 

Julie  had  returned  to  the  piano.  This  time  she  sang  a 
song  from  "  Semiramide  :  Son  regina,  son  gtierriera,"*  and  the 
whole  room  applauded,  a  stifled  outburst  of  well-bred  accla- 
mation which  proved  that  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  had 
been  roused  to  enthusiasm  by  her  singing. 

The  evening  was  over.  D'Aiglemont  brought  his  wife 
home,  and  Julie  saw  with  uneasy  satisfaction  that  her  first 
attempt  had  been  at  once  successful.  Her  husband  had  been 
roused  out  of  indifference  by  the  part  which  she  had  played, 
and  now  he  meant  to  honor  her  with  such  a  passing  fancy  as 
he  might  bestow  upon  some  opera  nymph.  It  amused  Julie 
that  she,  a  virtuous  married  woman,  should  be  treated  thus. 
She  tried  to  play  with  her  power,  but  at  the  outset  her  kind- 
ness broke  down  once  more,  and  she  received  the  most 
terrible  of  all  the  lessons  held  in  store  for  her  by  fate. 

Between  two  and  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  Julie  sat  up, 
sombre  and  moody,  beside  her  sleeping  husband,  in  the  room 
dimly  lighted  by  the  flickering  lamp.  Deep  silence  prevailed. 
Her  agony  of  remorse  had  lasted  near  an  hour  ;  how  bitter  her 
tears  had  been  none  perhaps  can  realize  save  women  who  have 
known  such  an  experience  as  hers.  Only  such  natures  as 
Julie's  can  feel  her  loathing  for  a  calculated  caress,  the  horror 
of  a  loveless  kiss,  of  the  heart's  apostasy,  followed  by  dolor- 
ous prostitution.  She  despised  herself;  she  cursed  marriage. 
She  could  have  longed  for  death ;  perhaps  if  it  had  not  been 
for  a  cry  from  her  child,  she  would  have  sprung  from  the 
window  and  dashed  herself  upon  the  pavement.  M.  d'Aigle- 
*  His  queen,  his  warrior. 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  55 

mont  slept  on  peacefully  at  her  side;  his  wife's  hot  dropping 
tears  did  not  waken  him. 

But  next  morning  Julie  could  be  gay.  She  made  a  great 
effort  to  look  happy,  to  hide,  not  her  melancholy  as  hereto- 
fore, but  an  insuperable  loathing.  From  that  day  she  no 
longer  regarded  herself  as  a  blameless  wife.  Had  she  not 
been  false  to  herself?  Why  should  she  not  play  a  double  part 
in  the  future,  and  display  astounding  depths  of  cunning  in 
deceiving  her  husband  ?  In  her  there  lay  a  hitherto  undis- 
covered latent  depravity,  lacking  only  opportunity,  and  her 
marriage  was  the  cause. 

Even  now  she  had  asked  herself  why  she  should  struggle 
with  love,  when,  with  her  heart  and  her  whole  nature  in  revolt, 
she  gave  herself  to  the  husband  whom  she  loved  no  longer. 
Perhaps,  who  knows  ?  some  piece  of  fallacious  reasoning, 
some  bit  of  special  pleading,  lies  at  the  root  of  all  sins,  of  all 
crimes.  How  shall  society  exist  unless  every  individual  of 
which  it  is  composed  will  make  the  necessary  sacrifices  of  in- 
clination demanded  by  its  laws?  If  you  accept  the  benefits  of 
civilized  society,  do  you  not  by  implication  engage  to  observe 
the  conditions,  the  conditions  of  its  very  existence?  And 
yet,  starving  wretches,  compelled  to  respect  the  laws  of  prop- 
erty, are  not  less  to  be  pitied  than  women  whose  natural  in- 
stincts and  sensitiveness  are  turned  to  so  many  avenues  of 
pain. 

A  few  days  after  that  scene  of  which  the  secret  lay  buried 
in  the  midnight  couch,  d'Aiglemont  introduced  Lord  Gren- 
ville.  Julie  gave  the  guest  a  stiffly  polite  reception,  which  did 
credit  to  her  powers  of  dissimulation.  Resolutely  she  silenced 
her  heart,  veiled  her  eyes,  steadied  her  voice,  and  so  kept  her 
future  in  her  own  hands.  Then,  when  by  these  devices,  this 
innate  womancraft,  as  it  may  be  called,  she  had  discovered 
the  full  extent  of  the  love  which  she  inspired,  Mme.  d'Aigle- 
mont welcomed  the  hope  of  a  speedy  cure,  and  no  longer  op- 
posed her  husband,  who  pressed  her  to  accept  the  young 


56  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

doctor's  offer.  Yet  she  declined  to  trust  herself  with  Lord 
Grenville  until,  after  some  further  study  of  his  words  and 
manner,  she  could  feel  certain  that  he  had  sufficient  generosity 
to  endure  his  pain  in  silence.  She  had  absolute  power  over 
him,  and  she  had  begun  to  abuse  that  power  already.  Was 
she  not  a  woman  ? 

Montcontour  is  an  old  manor-house  built  upon  the  sandy 
cliffs  above  the  Loire,  not  far  from  the  bridge  where  Julie's 
journey  was  interrupted  in  1814.  It  is  a  picturesque,  white 
hall,  with  turrets  covered  with  fine  stone  carving  like  Mechlin 
lace ;  a  mansion  such  as  you  often  see  in  Touraine,  spick  and 
span,  ivy-clad,  standing  among  its  groves  of  mulberry-trees 
and  vineyards,  with  its  hollow  walks,  its  stone  balustrades, 
and  cellars  mined  in  the  rock  escarpments  mirrored  in  the 
Loire.  The  roofs  of  Montcontour  gleam  in  the  sun  ;  the 
whole  land  glows  in  the  burning  heat.  Traces  of  the  romantic 
charm  of  Spain  and  the  south  hover  about  the  enchanting 
spot.  The  breeze  brings  the  scent  of  bell-flowers  and  golden- 
broom,  the  air  is  soft ;  all  about  you  lies  a  sunny  land,  a  land 
which  casts  its  dreamy  spell  over  your  soul,  a  land  of  languor 
and  of  soft  desire,  a  fair,  sweet-scented  country,  where  pain  is 
lulled  to  sleep  and  passion  wakes.  No  heart  is  cold  for  long 
beneath  its  clear  sky,  beside  its  sparkling  waters.  One  ambi- 
tion dies  after  another,  and  you  sink  into  a  serene  content  and 
repose,  as  the  sun  sinks  at  the  end  of  the  day  swathed  about 
with  purple  and  azure. 

One  warm  August  evening  in  1821  two  people  were  climb- 
ing the  paths  cut  in  the  crags  above  the  hall,  doubtless  for  the 
sake  of  the  view  from  the  heights  above.  The  two  were  Julie 
and  Lord  Grenville,  but  this  Julie  seemed  to  be  a  new  creature. 
The  unmistakable  color  of  health  glowed  in  her  face.  Over- 
flowing vitality  had  brought  a  light  into  her  eyes,  which 
sparkled  through  a  moist  film  with  that  liquid  brightness 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  57 

which  gives  such  irresistible  charm  to  the  eyes  of  children. 
She  was  radiant  with  smiles ;  she  felt  the  joy  of  living  and  all 
the  possibilities  of  life.  From  the  very  way  in  which  she 
lifted  her  little  feet,  it  was  easy  to  see  that  no  suffering  tram- 
meled her  lightest  movements;  there  was  no  heaviness  nor 
languor  in  her  eyes,  her  voice,  as  heretofore.  Under  the 
white  silk  sunshade  which  screened  her  from  the  hot  sunlight, 
she  looked  like  some  young  bride  beneath  her  veil,  or  a  maiden 
waiting  to  yield  to  the  magical  enchantments  of  Love. 

Arthur  led  her  with  a  lover's  care,  helping  her  up  the  path- 
way as  if  she  had  been  a  child,  finding  the  smoothest  ways, 
avoiding  the  stones  for  her,  bidding  her  see  glimpses  of  dis- 
tance, or  some  flower  beside  the  path,  always  with  the  unfail- 
ing goodness,  the  same  delicate  design  in  all  that  he  did,  the 
intuitive  sense  of  this  woman's  well-being  seemed  to  be  innate 
in  him,  and  as  much,  nay,  perhaps  more,  a  part  of  his  being 
as  the  pulse  of  his  own  life. 

The  patient  and  her  doctor  went  step  for  step.  There  was 
nothing  strange  for  them  in  a  sympathy  which  seemed  to 
have  existed  since  the  day  when  first  they  walked  together. 
One  will  swayed  them  both ;  they  stopped  as  their  senses 
received  the  same  impression  ;  every  word  and  every  glance 
told  of  the  same  thought  in  either  mind.  They  had  climbed 
up  through  the  vineyards,  and  now  they  turned  to  sit  on  one 
of  the  long  white  stones,  quarried  out  of  the  caves  in  the 
hillside ;  but  Julie  stood  awhile  gazing  out  over  the  landscape. 

"  What  a  beautiful  country  !  "  she  cried.  "  Let  us  put  up 
a  tent  and  live  here.  Victor,  Victor,  do  come  up  here  !  " 

M.  d'Aiglemont  answered  by  a  halloo  from  below.  He 
did  not,  however,  hurry  himself,  merely  giving  his  wife  a 
glance  from  time  to  time  when  the  windings  of  the  path  gave 
him  a  glimpse  of  Ivy.  Julie  breathed  the  air  with  delight. 
She  looked  up  at  Arthur,  giving  him  one  of  those  subtle 
glances  in  which  a  clever  woman  can  put  the  whole  of  her 
thought. 


58  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

"  Ah,  I  should  like  to  live  here  always,"  she  said.  "Would 
it  be  possible  to  tire  of  this  beautiful  valley?  What  is  the 
picturesque  river  called,  do  you  know?" 

"That  is  the  Cise." 

"The  Cise,"  she  repeated.  "And  all  this  country  below, 
before  us?" 

"  Those  are  the  low  hills  above  the  Cher."* 

"And  away  to  the  right?  Ah,  that  is  Tours.  Only  see 
how  fine  the  cathedral  towers  look  in  the  distance." 

She  was  silent,  and  let  fall  the  hand  which  she  had 
stretched  out  toward  the  view  upon  Arthur's.  Both  admired 
the  wide  landscape  made  up  of  so  much  blended  beauty. 
Neither  of  them  spoke.  The  murmuring  voice  of  the  river, 
the  pure  air,  and  the  cloudless  heaven  were  all  in  tune  with 
their  thronging  thoughts  and  their  youth  and  the  love  in  their 
hearts. 

"Oh!  my  God,  how  I  love  this  country  !"  Julie  continued, 
with  growing  and  ingenuous  enthusiasm.  "  You  lived  here 
for  a  long  while,  did  you  not  ?  "  she  added  after  a  pause. 

A  thrill  ran  through  Lord  Grenville  at  her  words. 

"It  was  down  there,"  he  said,  in  a  melancholy  voice,  in- 
dicating as  he  spoke  a  cluster  of  walnut-trees  by  the  roadside, 
"  that  I,  a  prisoner,  saw  you  for  the  first  time." 

"  Yes,  but  even  at  that  time  I  felt  very  sad.  This  country 

looked  wild  to  me  then,  but  now "  She  broke  off,  and 

Lord  Grenville  did  not  dare  to  look  at  her. 

"All  this  pleasure  I  owe  to  you,"  Julie  began  at  last,  after 
a  long  silence.  "  Only  the  living  can  feel  the  joy  of  life, 
and  until  now  have  I  not  been  dead  to  it  all  ?  You  have 
given  me  more  than  health,  you  have  made  me  feel  all  its 
worth " 

Women  have  an  inimitable  talent  for  giving  utterance  to 
strong  feeling  in  colorless  words;  a  woman's  eloquence  lies 
in  tone  and  gesture,  manner  and  glance.  Lord  Grenville  hid 
*  A  tributary  of  the  Loire. 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  59 

his  face  in  his  hands,  for  the  tears  filled  his  eyes.  This  was 
Julie's  first  word  of  thanks  since  they  left  Paris  a  year  ago. 

For  a  whole  year  he  had  watched  over  the  marquise,  putting 
his  whole  self  into  the  task.  D'Aiglemont  seconding  him,  he 
had  taken  her  first  to  Aix,  then  to  La  Rochelle,  to  be  near 
the  sea.  From  moment  to  moment  he  had  watched  the 
changes  worked  in  Julie's  shattered  constitution  by  his  wise 
and  simple  prescriptions.  He  had  cultivated  her  health  as  an 
enthusiastic  gardener  might  cultivate  a  rare  flower.  Yet,  to 
all  appearance,  the  marquise  had  quietly  accepted  Arthur's 
skill  and  care  with  the  egoism  of  a  spoiled  Parisienne,  or  like 
a  courtesan  who  has  no  idea  of  the  cost  of  things,  nor  of  the 
worth  of  a  man,  and  judges  of  both  by  their  comparative 
usefulness  to  her. 

The  influence  of  places  upon  us  is  a  fact  worth  remarking. 
If  melancholy  comes  over  us  by  the  margin  of  a  great  water, 
another  indelible  law  of  our  nature  so  orders  it  that  the  moun- 
tains exercise  a  purifying  influence  upon  our  feelings,  and 
among  the  hills  passion  gains  in  depth  by  all  that  it  apparently 
loses  in  vivacity.  Perhaps  it  was  the  sight  of  the  wide  country 
by  the  Loire,  the  height  of  the  fair  sloping  hillside  on  which 
the  lovers  sat,  that  induced  the  calm  bliss  of  the  moment  when 
the  whole  extent  of  the  passion  that  lies  beneath  a  few  insig- 
nificant-sounding words  is  divined  for  the  first  time  with  a 
delicious  sense  of  happiness. 

Julie  had  scarcely  spoken  the  words  which  had  moved  Lord 
Grenville  so  deeply,  when  a  caressing  breeze  ruffled  the  tree- 
tops  and  filled  the  air  with  coolness  from  the  river;  a  few 
clouds  crossed  the  sky,  and  the  soft  cloud-shadows  brought 
out  all  the  beauty  of  the  fair  land  below. 

Julie  turned  away  her  head,  lest  Arthur  should  see  the  tears 
which  she  succeeded  in  repressing ;  his  emotion  had  spread  at 
once  to  her.  She  dried  her  eyes,  but  she  dared  not  raise 
them  lest  he  should  read  the  excess  of  joy  in  a  glance.  Her 
woman's  instinct  told  her  that  during  this  hour  of  danger  she 


60  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

must  hide  her  love  in  the  depths  of  her  heart.  Yet  silence 
might  prove  equally  dangerous,  and  Julie  saw  that  Lord 
Grenville  was  unable  to  utter  a  word.  She  went  on,  there- 
fore, in  a  gentle  voice — 

"You  are  touched  by  what  I  have  said.  Perhaps  such  a 
quick  outburst  of  feeling  is  the  way  in  which  a  gracious  and 
kind  nature  like  yours  reverses  a  mistaken  judgment.  You 
must  have  thought  me  ungrateful  when  I  was  cold  and  re- 
served, or  cynical  and  hard,  all  through  the  journey  which, 
fortunately,  is  very  near  its  end.  I  should  not  have  been 
worthy  of  your  care  if  I  had  been  unable  to  appreciate  it.  I 
have  forgotten  nothing.  Alas  !  I  shall  forget  nothing,  not 
the  anxious  way  in  which  you  watched  over  me  as  a  mother 
watches  over  her  child,  nor,  and  above  all  else,  the  noble 
confidence  of  our  life  as  brother  and  sister,  the  delicacy  of 
your  conduct — winning  charms,  against  which  we  women  are 
defenseless.  My  lord,  it  is  out  of  my  power  to  make  you 
a  return " 

At  those  words  Julie  hastily  moved  farther  away,  and  Lord 
Grenville  made  no  attempt  to  detain  her.  She  went  to  a  rock 
not  far  away,  and  there  sat  motionless.  What  either  felt  re- 
mained a  secret  known  to  each  alone ;  doubtless  they  wept  in 
silence.  The  singing  of  the  birds  about  them,  so  blithe,  so 
overflowing  with  tenderness  at  sunset  time,  could  only 
increase  the  storm  of  passion  which  had  driven  them  apart. 
Nature  took  up  their  story  for  them,  and  found  a  language  for 
the  love  of  which  they  did  not  dare  to  speak. 

"  And  now,  my  lord,"  said  Julie,  and  she  came  and  stood 
before  Arthur  with  a  great  dignity,  which  allowed  her  to  take 
his  hand  in  hers.  "  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  hallow  and 
purify  the  life  which  you  have  given  back  to  me.  Here,  we 
will  part.  I  know,"  she  added,  as  she  saw  how  white  his  face 
grew,  "  I  know  that  I  am  repaying  you  for  your  devotion  by 
requiring  of  you  a  sacrifice  even  greater  than  any  which  you 
have  hitherto  made  for  me,  sacrifices  so  great  that  they  should 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  61 

receive  some  better  recompense  than  this.  But  it  must  be. 
You  must  not  stay  in  France.  By  laying  this  command  upon 
you,  do  I  not  give  you  rights  which  shall  be  held  sacred?" 
she  added,  holding  his  hand  against  her  beating  heart. 

"Yes,"  said  Arthur,  and  he  arose. 

He  looked  in  the  direction  of  d'Aiglemont,  who  appeared 
on  the  opposite  side  of  one  of  the  hollow  walks  with  the 
child  in  his  arms.  He  had  scrambled  up  on  the  balustrade  by 
the  manor-house  that  little  Helene  might  jump  down. 

"Julie,  I  will  say  not  a  word  of  my  love;  we  understand 
each  other  too  well.  Deeply  and  carefully  though  I  have 
hidden  the  pleasures  of  my  heart,  you  have  shared  them  all.  I 
feel  it,  I  know  it,  I  see  it.  And  now,  at  this  moment,  as  I 
receive  this  delicious  proof  of  the  constant  sympathy  of  our 
hearts,  I  must  go.  Cunning  schemes  for  getting  rid  of  him 
have  crossed  my  mind  too  often  ;  the  temptation  might  be 
irresistible  if  I  stayed  with  you." 

"I  had  the  same  thought,"  she  said,  a  look  of  pained  sur- 
prise in  her  troubled  face. 

Yet  in  her  tone  and  involuntary  shudder  there  was  such 
virtue,  such  certainty  of  herself,  won  in  many  a  hard-fought 
battle  with  a  love  that  spoke  in  Julie's  tones  and  involuntary 
gestures,  that  Lord  Grenville  stood  thrilled  with  admiration 
of  her.  The  mere  shadow  of  a  crime  had  been  dispelled 
from  that  clear  conscience.  The  religious  sentiment  en- 
throned on  the  fair  forehead  could  not  but  drive  away  the 
evil  thoughts  that  arise  unbidden,  engendered  by  our  imperfect 
nature,  thoughts  which  make  us  aware  of  the  grandeur  and 
the  perils  of  human  destiny. 

"And  then,"  she  said,  "  I  should  have  drawn  down  your  scorn 

upon  me,  and I  should  have  been  saved,"  she  added, 

and  her  eyes  fell.  "To  be  lowered  in  your  eyes,  what  is 
that  but  death?" 

For  a  moment  the  two  heroic  lovers  were  silent,  choking 
down  their  sorrow.  Good  or  ill,  it  seemed  that  their  thoughts 


62  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

were  loyally  one,  and  the  joys  in  the  depths  of  their  hearts 
were  no  more  experiences  apart  than  the  pain  which  they 
strove  most  anxiously  to  hide. 

"I  have  no  right  to  complain,"  she  said  after  a  while, 
"my  misery  is  of  my  own  making,"  and  she  raised  her  tear- 
filled  eyes  to  the  sky. 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  remember  it,  but  that  is  the  place 
where  we  met  each  other  for  the  first  time,"  shouted  the 
general  from  below,  and  he  waved  his  hand  toward  the  dis- 
tance. "There,  down  yonder,  near  those  poplars  !  " 

The  Englishman  nodded  abruptly  by  way  of  answer. 

"  So  I  was  bound  to  die  young  and  to  know  no  happiness," 
Julie  continued.  "Yes,  do  not  think  that  I  live.  Sorrow  is 
just  as  fatal  as  the  dreadful  disease  which  you  have  cured.  I 
do  not  think  that  I  am  to  blame.  No.  My  love  is  stronger 
than  I  am,  and  eternal ;  but  all  unconsciously  it  grew  in  me ; 
and  I  will  not  be  guilty  through  my  love.  Nevertheless, 
though  I  shall  be  faithful  to  my  conscience  as  a  wife,  to  my 
duties  as  a  mother,  I  will  be  no  less  faithful  to  the  instincts 
of  my  heart.  Hear  me,"  she  cried  in  an  unsteady  voice, 
"  henceforth  I  belong  to  him  no  longer." 

By  a  gesture,  dreadful  to  see  in  its  undisguised  loathing, 
she  indicated  her  husband. 

"  The  social  code  demands  that  I  should  make  his  existence 
happy,"  she  continued.  "  I  will  obey,  I  will  be  his  servant, 
my  devotion  to  him  shall  be  boundless ;  but  from  to-day  I  am 
a  widow.  I  will  neither  be  a  prostitute  in  my  own  eyes  nor 
in  those  of  the  world.  If  I  do  not  belong  to  Monsieur 
d'Aiglemont,  I  will  never  belong  to  another.  You  shall  have 
nothing,  nothing  save  this  which  you  have  wrung  from  me. 
This  is  the  doom  which  I  have  passed  upon  myself,"  she  said, 
looking  proudly  at  him.  "  And  now,  know  this — if  you  give 
way  toasingiecriminal  thought,  Monsieurd'Aiglemont's widow 
will  enter  a  convent  in  Spain  or  Italy.  By  an  evil  chance  we 
have  spoken  of  our  love ;  perhaps  that  confession  was  bound  to 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  63 

come ;  but  our  hearts  must  never  again  vibrate  like  this.  To- 
morrow you  will  receive  a  letter  from  England,  and  we  shall 
part  and  never  see  each  other  again." 

The  effort  had  exhausted  all  Julie's  strength.  She  felt  her 
knees  trembling,  and  a  feeling  of  deathly  cold  came  over  her. 
Obeying  a  woman's  instinct,  she  sat  down,  lest  she  should 
sink  into  Arthur's  arms. 

"  Julie  /"  cried  Lord  Grenville. 

The  sharp  cry  rang  through  the  air  like  a  crack  of  thunder. 
Till  then  he  could  not  speak ;  now,  all  the  words  which  the 
dumb  lover  could  not  utter  gathered  themselves  in  that  heart- 
rending appeal. 

"Well,  what  is  wrong  with  her?"  asked  the  general,  who 
had  hurried  up  at  that  cry,  and  now  suddenly  confronted  the 
two. 

"Nothing  serious,"  said  Julie,  with  that  wonderful  self- 
possession  which  a  woman's  quick-wittedness  usually  brings  to 
her  aid  when  it  is  most  called  for.  "  The  chill,  damp  air 
under  the  walnut-tree  made  me  feel  quite  faint  just  now,  and 
that  must  have  alarmed  this  doctor  of  mine.  Does  he  nbt 
look  on  me  as  a  very  nearly  finished  work  of  art?  He  was 
startled,  I  suppose,  by  the  idea  of  seeing  it  destroyed."  With 
ostentatious  coolness  she  took  Lord  Grenville's  arm,  smiled 
at  her  husband,  took  a  last  look  at  the  landscape,  and  went 
down  the  pathway,  drawing  her  traveling  companion  along 
with  her. 

"This  certainly  is  the  grandest  view  that  we  have  seen," 
she  said;  "I  shall  never  forget  it.  Just  look,  Victor,  what 
distance,  what  an  expanse  of  country,  and  what  variety  in  it ! 
I  have  fallen  in  love  with  this  landscape." 

Her  laughter  was  almost  hysterical,  but  to  her  husband  it 
sounded  natural.  She  sprang  gayly  down  into  the  hollow 
pathway  and  vanished. 

"What?"  she  cried,  when  they  had  left  M.  d'Aiglemont 
far  behind.  "So  soon?  Is  it  so  soon?  Another  moment, 


64  A    IVOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

and  we  can  neither  of  us  be  ourselves ;  we  shall  never  be  our- 
selves again,  our  life  is  over,  in  short " 

"Let  us  go  slowly,"  said  Lord  Grenville,  "the  carriages 
are  still  some  way  off,  and  if  we  may  put  words  into  our 
glances,  our  hearts  may  live  a  little  longer." 

They  went  along  the  footpath  by  the  river  in  the  late  even- 
ing light,  almost  in  silence ;  such  vague  words  as  they  uttered, 
low  as  the  murmur  of  the  Loire,  stirred  their  souls  to  the 
depths.  Just  as  the  sun  sank,  a  last  red  gleam  from  the  sky 
fell  over  them ;  it  was  like  a  mournful  symbol  of  their  ill- 
starred  love. 

The  general,  much  put  out  because  the  carriage  was  not  at 
the  spot  where  they  left  it,  followed  and  outstripped  the  pair 
without  interrupting  their  conversation.  Lord  Grenville's 
high-minded  and  delicate  behavior  throughout  the  journey 
had  completely  dispelled  the  marquis'  suspicions.  For  some 
time  past  he  had  left  his  wife  in  freedom,  reposing  confidence 
in  the  noble  amateur's  Punic  faith.  Arthur  and  Julie  walked 
on  together  in  the  close  and  painful  communion  of  two  hearts 
laid  waste. 

So  short  a  while  ago  as  they  climbed  the  cliffs  at  Montcon- 
tour,  there  had  been  a  vague  hope  in  either  mind,  an  uneasy 
joy  for  which  they  dared  not  account  to  themselves ;  but  now 
as  they  came  along  the  pathway  by  the  river,  they  pulled 
down  the  frail  structure  of  imaginings,  the  child's  card-castle, 
on  which  neither  of  them  had  dared  to  breathe.  That  hope 
was  over. 

That  very  evening  Lord  Grenville  left  them.  His  last  look 
at  Julie  made  it  miserably  plain  that  since  the  moment  when 
sympathy  revealed  the  full  extent  of  a  tyrannous  passion,  he 
did  well  to  mistrust  himself. 

The  next  morning  M.  d'Aiglemont  and  his  wife  took  their 
places  in  their  carriage  without  their  traveling  companion, 
and  were  whirled  swiftly  along  the  road  to  Blois.  The  mar- 
quise was  constantly  put  in  mind  of  the  journey  made  in  1814, 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  65 

when  as  yet  she  knew  nothing  of  love,  and  had  been  almost 
ready  to  curse  it  for  its  persistency.  Countless  forgotten  im- 
pressions were  revived.  The  heart  has  its  own  memory.  A 
woman  who  cannot  recollect  the  most  important  great  events 
will  recollect  through  a  lifetime  things  which  appealed  to  her 
feelings;  and  Julie  d'Aiglemont  found  all  the  most  trifling 
details  of  that  journey  laid  up  in  her  mind.  It  was  pleasant 
to  her  to  recall  its  little  incidents  as  they  occurred  to  her  one 
by  one ;  there  were  points  in  the  road  when  she  could  even 
remember  the  thoughts  that  passed  through  her  mind  when 
she  saw  them  first. 

Victor  had  fallen  violently  in  love  with  his  wife  since  she 
had  recovered  the  freshness  of  her  youth  and  all  her  beauty, 
and  now  he  pressed  close  to  her  side  like  a  lover.  Once  he 
tried  to  put  his  arm  round  her,  but  she  gently  disengaged 
herself,  finding  some  excuse  or  other  for  evading  the  harmless 
caress.  In  a  little  while  she  shrank  from  the  close  contact 
with  Victor,  the  sensation  of  warmth  communicated  by  their 
position.  She  tried  to  take  the  unoccupied  place  opposite, 
but  Victor  gallantly  resigned  the  back  seat  to  her.  For  this 
attention  she  thanked  him  with  a  sigh,  whereupon  he  forgot 
himself,  and  the  Don  Juan  of  the  garrison  construed  his  wife's 
melancholy  to  his  own  advantage,  so  that  at  the  end  of  the 
day  she  was  compelled  to  speak  with  a  firmness  which  im- 
pressed him. 

"  You  have  all  but  killed  me,  dear,  once  already,  as  you 
know,"  said  she.  "  If  I  were  still  an  inexperienced  girl,  I 
might  begin  to  sacrifice  myself  afresh ;  but  I  am  a  mother, 
I  have  a  daughter  to  bring  up,  and  I  owe  as  much  to  her  as 
to  you.  Let  us  resign  ourselves  to  a  misfortune  which  affects 
us  both  alike.  You  are  the  less  to  be  pitied.  Have  you  not, 
as  it  is,  found  consolations  which  duty  and  the  honor  of  both, 
and  (stronger  still)  which  Nature  forbids  to  me?  Stay,"  she 
added,  "you  carelessly  left  three  letters  from  Madame  de 
Serizy  in  a  drawer ;  here  they  are.  My  silence  about  this 
5 


66  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

matter  should  make  it  plain  to  you  that  in  me  you  have  a  wife 
who  has  plenty  of  indulgence  and  does  not  exact  from  you 
the  sacrifices  prescribed  by  the  law.  But  I  have  thought 
enough  to  see  that  the  roles  of  husband  and  wife  are  quite 
different,  and  that  the  wife  alone  is  predestined  to  misfortune. 
My  virtue  is  based  upon  firmly  fixed  and  definite  principles. 
I  shall  live  blamelessly,  but  let  me  live." 

The  marquis  was  taken  aback  by  a  logic  which  women 
grasp  with  the  clear  insight  of  love,  and  overawed  by  a  cer- 
tain dignity  natural  to  them  at  such  crises.  Julie's  instinctive 
repugnance  for  all  that  jarred  upon  her  love  and  the  instincts 
of  her  heart  is  one  of  the  fairest  qualities  of  woman,  and 
springs  perhaps  from  a  natural  virtue  which  neither  laws  nor 
civilization  can  silence.  And  who  shall  dare  to  blame  women? 
If  a  woman  can  silence  the  exclusive  sentiment  which  bids 
her  "  forsake  all  other  "  for  the  man  whom  she  loves,  what  is 
she  but  a  priest  who  has  lost  his  faith  ?  If  a  rigid  mind  here 
and  there  condemns  Julie  for  a  sort  of  compromise  between 
love  and  wifely  duty,  impassioned  souls  will  lay  it  to  her 
charge  as  a  crime.  To  be  thus  blamed  by  both  sides  shows 
one  ot  two  things  very  clearly — that  misery  necessarily  follows 
in  the  train  of  broken  laws,  or  else  that  there  are  deplorable 
flaws  in  the  institutions  upon  which  society  in  Europe  is  based. 

Two  years  went  by.  M.  and  Mme.  d'Aiglemont  went  their 
separate  ways,  leading  their  life  in  the  world,  meeting  each 
other  more  frequently  abroad  than  at  home,  a  refinement 
upon  divorce,  in  which  many  a  marriage  in  the  great  world 
is  apt  to  end. 

One  evening,  strange  to  say,  found  husband  and  wife  in 
their  own  drawing-room.  Mme.  d'Aiglemont  had  been  dining 
at  home  with  a  friend,  and  the  general,  who  almost  invariably 
dined  in  town,  had  not  gone  out  for  once. 

"There  is  a  pleasant  time  in  store  for  you,  Madame  la  Mar- 
guise,"  said  M.  d'Aiglemont,  setting  his  coffee  cup  down  upon 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY  67 

the  table.  He  looked  at  the  guest,  Mme.  de  Wimphen,  and 
half-pettishly,  half-mischievously  added,  "  I  am  starting  off 
for  several  days'  sport  with  the  master  of  the  hounds.  For  a 
whole  week,  at  any  rate,  you  will  be  a  widow  in  good 
earnest;  just  what  you  wish  for,  I  suppose.  Guillaume,"  he 
said  to  the  servant  who  entered,  "tell  them  to  put  the 
horses  in." 

Mme.  de  Wimphen  was  the  friend  to  whom  Julie  had 
begun  the  letter  upon  her  marriage.  The  glances  exchanged 
by  the  two  women  said  plainly  that  in  her  Julie  had  found  an 
intimate  friend,  an  indulgent  and  invaluable  confidant. 
Mme.  de  Wimphen's  marriage  had  been  a  very  happy  one. 
Perhaps  it  was  her  own  happiness  which  secured  her  devotion 
to  Julie's  unhappy  life,  for,  under  such  circumstances,  dissimi- 
larity of  destiny  is  nearly  always  a  strong  bond  of  union. 

"Is  the  hunting  season  not  over  yet?"  asked  Julie,  with 
an  indifferent  glance  at  her  husband. 

"The  master  of  the  hounds  comes  when  and  where  he 
pleases,  madame.  We  are  going  boar-hunting  in  the  Royal 
Forest." 

"Take  care  that  no  accident  happens  to  you." 

"Accidents  are  usually  unforeseen,"  he  said,  smiling. 

"The carriage  is  ready,  my  lord  marquis,"  said  the  servant. 

"Madame,  if  I  should  fall  a  victim  to  the  boar "  he 

continued,  with  a  suppliant  air. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  inquired  Mme.  de  Wimphen. 

"Come,  come,"  said  Mme.  d'Aiglemont,  turning  to  her 
husband;  smiling  at  her  friend  as  if  to  say,  "You  will  soon 
see." 

Julie  held  up  her  head ;  but  as  her  husband  came  close  to 
her,  she  swerved  at  the  last,  so  that  his  kiss  fell  not  on  her 
throat,  but  on  the  broad  frill  about  it. 

"You  will  be  my  witness  before  heaven  now  that  I  need  a 
firman  to  obtain  this  little  grace  of  her,"  said  the  marquis, 
addressing  Mme.  de  Wimphen.  "This  is  how  this  wife  of 


68  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

mine  understands  love.  She  has  brought  me  to  this  pass,  by 

what  trickery  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know A  pleasant  time  to 

you  !  "  and  he  went. 

"But  your  poor  husband  is  really  very  good-natured," 
cried  Louisa  de  Wimphen,  when  the  two  women  were  alone 
together.  He  loves  you." 

"  Oh  !  not  another  syllable  after  that  last  word.  The  name 
I  bear  makes  me  shudder " 

"Yes,  but  Victor  obeys  you  implicitly,"  said  Louisa. 

"  His  obedience  is  founded  in  part  upon  the  great  esteem 
which  I  have  inspired  in  him.  As  far  as  outward  things  go,  I 
am  a  model  wife.  I  make  his  house  pleasant  to  him ;  I  shut 
my  eyes  to  his  intrigues ;  I  touch  not  a  penny  of  his  fortune. 
He  is  free  to  squander  the  interest  exactly  as  he  pleases ;  I 
only  stipulate  that  he  shall  not  touch  the  principal.  At  this 
price  I  have  peace.  He  neither  explains  nor  attempts  to  ex- 
plain my  life.  But  though  my  husband  is  guided  by  me,  that 
does  not  say  that  I  have  nothing  to  fear  from  his  character. 
I  am  a  bear-leader  who  daily  trembles  lest  the  muzzle  should 
give  way  at  last.  If  Victor  once  took  it  into  his  head  that  I 
had  forfeited  my  right  to  his  esteem,  what  would  happen  next 
I  dare  not  think ;  for  he  is  violent,  full  of  personal  pride,  and 
vain  above  all  things.  While  his  wits  are  not  keen  enough  to 
enable  him  to  behave  discreetly  at  a  delicate  crisis  when  his 
lowest  passions  are  involved,  his  character  is  weak,  and  he 
would  very  likely  kill  me  provisionally  even  if  he  died  of  re- 
morse next  day.  But  there  is  no  fear  of  that  fatal  good-for- 
tune." 

A  brief  pause  followed.  Both  women  were  thinking  of  the 
real  cause  of  this  state  of  affairs.  Julie  gave  Louisa  a  glance 
which  revealed  her  thoughts. 

"I  have  been  cruelly  obeyed,"  she  cried.  "Yet  I  never 
forbade  him  to  write  me.  Oh  !  he,  he  has  forgotten  me,  and 
he  is  right.  If  his  life  had  been  spoiled,  it  would  have  been 
too  tragical ;  one  life  is  enough,  is  it  not  ?  Would  you  be- 


A    WOMAN   OF  THIRTY.  69 

lieve  it,  dear ;  I  read  English  newspapers  simply  to  see  his 
name  in  print.  But  he  has  not  yet  taken  his  seat  in  the 
House  of  Lords." 

"  So  you  know  English  ?  " 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  ?    Yes,  I  learned." 

"Poor  little  one  !  "  cried  Louisa,  grasping  Julie's  hand  in 
hers.  "  How  can  you  still  live  ?  " 

"That  is  a  secret,"  said  the  marquise,  with  an  involuntary 
gesture  almost  childlike  in  its  simplicity.  "Listen,  I  take 
laudanum.  That  duchess  in  London  suggested  the  idea  ;  you 
know  the  story,  Maturin  made  use  of  it  in  one  of  his  novels. 
My  drops  are  very  weak,  but  I  sleep  ;  I  am  only  awake  for 
seven  hours  in  the  day,  and  those  hours  I  spend  with  my 
child." 

Louisa  gazed  into  the  fire.  The  full  extent  of  her  friend's 
misery  was  opening  out  before  her  for  the  first  time  and  she 
dared  not  look  into  her  face. 

"Keep  my  secret,  Louisa,"  said  Julie,  after  a  moment's 
silence. 

Just  as  she  spoke  the  footman  brought  in  a  letter  for  the 
marquise. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  cried,  and  her  face  grew  white. 

"I  need  not  ask  from  whom  it  comes,"  said  Mme.  de 
Wimphen,  but  the  marquise  was  reading  the  letter,  and 
heeded  nothing  else. 

Mme.  de  Wimphen,  watching  her  friend,  saw  strong  feel- 
ing wrought  to  the  highest  pitch,  ecstasy  of  the  most  danger- 
ous kind  painted  on  Julie's  face  in  swift-changing  white  and 
red.  At  length  Julie  flung  the  sheet  into  the  fire. 

"  It  burns  like  fire,"  she  said.  "  Oh  !  my  heart  beats  till 
I  cannot  breathe." 

She  rose  to  her  feet  and  walked  up  and  down.  Her  eyes 
were  blazing. 

"  He  did  not  leave  Paris  !  "  she  cried. 

Mme.   de  Wimphen  did  not  dare  to  interrupt  the  words 


70  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

that  followed,  jerked-out  sentences,  measured  by  dreadful 
pauses  in  between.  After  every  break  the  deep  notes  of  her 
voice  sank  lower  and  lower.  There  was  something  awful 
about  the  last  words. 

"He  has  seen  me,  constantly,  and  I  have  not  known  it. — 
A  look,  taken  by  stealth,  every  day,  helps  him  to  live. — 
Louisa,  you  do  not  know  ! — He  is  dying. — He  wants  to  say 
good-by  to  me.  He  knows  that  my  husband  has  gone  away 
for  several  days.  He  will  be  here  in  a  moment.  Oh !  I 
shall  die :  I  am  lost. — Listen,  Louisa,  stay  with  me  !  Two 

women  and  he  will  not  dare Oh  !  stay  with  me  ! — I  am 

afraid!" 

"  But  my  husband  knows  that  I  have  been  dining  with  you ; 
he  is  sure  to  come  for  me,"  said  Mme.  de  Wimphen. 

"Well,  then,  before  you  go  I  will  send  him  away.  I  will 
play  the  executioner  for  us  both.  Oh  me  !  he  will  think  that 

I  do  not  love  him  any  more And  that  letter  of  his  ! 

Dear,  I  can  see  those  words  in  letters  of  fire." 

A  carriage  rolled  in  under  the  archway. 

"Ah !  "  cried  the  marquise,  with  something  like  joy  in  her 
voice,  "he  is  coming  openly.  He  makes  no  mystery  of  it." 

"Lord  Grenville,"  announced  the  servant. 

The  marquise  stood  up  rigid  and  motionless ;  but  at  the 
sight  of  Arthur's  white  face,  so  thin  and  haggard,  how  was 
it  possible  to  keep  up  the  show  of  severity?  Lord  Grenville 
saw  that  Julie  was  not  alone,  but  he  controlled  his  fierce  an- 
noyance, and  looked  cool  and  unperturbed.  Yet  for  the  two 
women  who  knew  his  secret,  his  face,  his  tones,  the  look  in 
his  eyes  had  something  of  the  power  attributed  to  the  torpedo. 
Their  faculties  were  benumbed  by  the  sharp  shock  of  contact 
with  his  horrible  pain.  The  sound  of  his  voice  set  Julie's 
heart  beating  so  cruelly  that  she  could  not  trust  herself  to 
speak ;  she  was  afraid  that  he  would  see  the  full  extent  of  his 
power  over  her.  Lord  Grenville  did  not  dare  to  look  at 
Julie,  and  Mme.  de  Wimphen  was  left  to  sustain  a  conversa- 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  71 

tion  to  which  no  one  listened.  Julie  glanced  at  her  friend 
with  touching  gratefulness  in  her  eyes  to  thank  her  for  coming 
to  her  aid. 

By  this  time  the  lovers  had  quelled  emotion  into  silence, 
and  could  preserve  the  limits  laid  down  by  duty  and  conven- 
tion. But  M.  de  Wimphen  was  announced,  and  as  he  came 
in  the  two  friends  exchanged  glances.  Both  felt  the  difficulties 
of  this  fresh  complication.  It  was  impossible  to  enter  into 
explanations  with  M.  de  Wimphen,  and  Louisa  could  not 
think  of  any  sufficient  pretext  for  asking  to  be  left. 

Julie  went  to  her,  ostensibly  to  wrap  her  up  in  her  shawl. 
"I  will  be  brave,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "He  came 
here  in  face  of  all  the  world,  so  what  I  have  to  fear?  Yet, 
but  for  you,  in  that  first  moment,  when  I  saw  how  changed  he 
looked,  I  should  have  fallen  at  his  feet." 

"  Well,  Arthur,  you  have  broken  your  promise  to  me,"  she 
said,  in  a  faltering  voice,  when  she  returned.  Lord  Grenville 
did  not  venture  to  take  the  seat  upon  the  sofa  by  her  side. 

"  I  could  not  resist  the  pleasure  of  hearing  your  voice,  of 
being  near  you.  The  thought  of  it  came  to  be  a  sort  of  mad- 
ness, a  delirious  frenzy.  I  am  no  longer  master  of  myself. 
I  have  taken  myself  to  task ;  it  is  no  use,  I  am  too  weak,  I 
ought  to  die.  But  to  die  without  seeing  you,  without  having 
heard  the  rustle  of  your  dress,  or  felt  your  tears.  What  a 
death  !  " 

He  moved  farther  away  from  her ;  but  in  his  hasty  uprising 
a  pistol  fell  out  of  his  pocket.  The  marquise  looked  down 
blankly  at  the  weapon  ;  all  passion,  all  expression  had  died 
out  of  his  eyes.  Lord  Grenville  stooped  for  the  thing,  raging 
inwardly  over  an  accident  which  seemed  like  a  piece  of  love- 
sick strategy. 

"Arthur  /" 

"Madame,"  he  said,  looking  down,  "I  came  here  in  utter 
desperation;  I  meant "  he  broke  off. 

"  You  meant  to  die  by  your  own  hand  here  in  my  house  !  " 


72  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

"Not  alone,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Not  alone !     My  husband,  perhaps ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  he  cried  in  a  choking  voice.  "  Reassure  your- 
self," he  continued,  "  I  have  quite  given  up  my  deadly  pur- 
pose. As  soon  as  I  came  in,  as  soon  as  I  saw  you,  I  felt  that 
I  was  strong  enough  to  suffer  in  silence,  and  to  die  alone." 

Julie  sprang  up,  and  flung  herself  into  his  arms.  ThrougK 
her  sobbing  he  caught  a  few  passionate  words,  "To  know 
happiness,  and  then  to  die.  Yes,  let  it  be  so." 

All  Julie's  story  was  summed  up  in  that  cry  from  the  depths ; 
it  was  the  summons  of  nature  and  of  love  at  which  women  with- 
out a  religion  surrender.  With  the  fierce  energy  of  unhoped- 
for joy,  Arthur  caught  her  up  and  carried  her  to  the  sofa ; 
but  in  a  moment  she  tore  herself  from  her  lover's  arms, 
looked  at  him  with  a  fixed  despairing  gaze,  took  his  hand, 
snatched  up  a  candle,  and  drew  him  into  her  room.  When 
they  stood  by  the  cot  where  Helene  lay  sleeping,  she  put  the 
curtains  softly  aside,  shading  the  candle  with  her  hand,  lest 
the  light  should  dazzle  the  half-closed  eyes  be-neath  the  trans- 
parent lids.  Helene  lay  smiling  in  her  sleep,  with  her  arms 
outstretched  on  the  coverlet.  Julie  glanced  from  her  child 
to  Arthur's  face.  That  look  told  him  all. 

"  We  may  leave  a  husband,  even  though  he  loves  us :  a  man 
is  strong ;  he  has  consolations.  We  may  defy  the  world  and 
its  laws.  But  a  motherless  child  !  " — all  these  thoughts,  and 
a  thousand  others  more  moving  still,  found  language  in  that 
glance.- 

"  We  can  take  her  with  us,"  muttered  he ;  "I  will  love  her 
dearly." 

"Mamma!  "  cried  little  Helene,  now  awake.  Julie  burst 
into  tears.  Lord  Grenville  sat  down  and  folded  his  arms  in 
gloomy  silence. 

"  Mamma  !  "  At  the  sweet  childish  name,  so  many  nobler 
feelings,  so  many  irresistible  yearnings  awoke,  that  for  a  mo- 
ment love  was  effaced  by  the  all-powerful  instinct  of  mother- 


SHE    PUT    THE    CURTAINS    SOFTLY    ASIDE 


A    WO  MAN  OF  THIRTY.  73 

hood ;  the  mother  triumphed  over  the  woman  in  Julie,  and 
Lord  Grenville  could  not  hold  out,  he  was  defeated  by  Julie's 
tears. 

Just  at  that  moment  a  door  was  flung  noisily  open.  "  Mad- 
ame d'Aiglemont,  are  you  hereabout?"  called  a  voice  which 
rang  like  a  crack  of  thunder  through  the  hearts  of  the  two 
lovers.  The  marquis  had  come  home. 

Before  Julie  could  recover  her  presence  of  mind,  her  hus- 
band was  on  the  way  to  the  door  of  her  room  which  opened 
into  his.  Luckily,  at  a  sign,  Lord  Grenville  escaped  into 
the  dressing-closet,  and  she  hastily  shut  the  door  upon  him. 

"Well,  my  lady,  here  am  I,"  said  Victor,  "the  hunting 
party  did  not  come  off.  I  am  just  going  to  bed." 

"Good-night,  so  am  I.     So  go  and  leave  me  to  undress." 

"  You  are  very  cross  to-night,  Madame  la  Marquise." 

The  general  returned  to  his  room,  Julie  went  with  him  to 
the  door  and  shut  it.  Then  she  sprang  to  the  dressing-closet 
to  release  Arthur.  All  her  presence  of  mind  returned ;  she 
bethought  herself  that  it  was  quite  natural  that  her  sometime 
doctor  should  pay  her  a  visit ;  she  might  have  left  him  in  the 
drawing-room  while  she  put  her  little  girl  to  bed.  She  was 
about  to  tell  him,  under  her  breath,  to  go  back  to  the  drawing- 
room,  and  had  opened  the  door.  Then  she  shrieked  aloud. 
Lord  Grenville's  fingers  had  been  caught  and  crushed  in  the 
door. 

"Well,  what  is  it?  "  demanded  her  husband. 

"  Oh  !  nothing,  nothing,  I  have  just  pricked  my  finger  with 
a  pin." 

The  general's  door  opened  at  once.  Julie  imagined  that 
the  irruption  was  due  to  a  sudden  concern  for  her,  and  cursed 
a  solicitude  in  which  love  had  no  part.  She  had  barely  time 
to  close  the  dressing-closet,  and  Lord  Grenville  had  not  ex- 
tricated his  hand.  The  general  did,  in  fact,  appear,  but  his 
wife  had  mistaken  his  motives;  his  apprehensions  were  en- 
tirely on  his  own  account. 


74  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

"  Can  you  lend  me  a  bandana  handkerchief?  That  stupid 
fool  Charles  leaves  me  without  a  single  one.  In  the  early 
days  you  used  to  bother  me  with  looking  after  me  so  carefully. 
Ah,  well,  the  honeymoon  did  not  last  very  long  for  me,  nor 
yet  for  my  cravats.  Nowadays  I  am  given  over  to  the  secular 
arm,  in  the  shape  of  servants  who  do  not  care  one  jack-straw 
for  what  I  say." 

"There  !  There  is  a  bandana  for  you.  Did  you  go  into 
the  drawing-room  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Oh  !  you  might  perhaps  have  been  in  time  to  see  Lord 
Grenville." 

"Is  he  in  Paris?" 

"It  seems  so." 

"  Oh  !  I  will  go  at  once.     The  good  doctor." 

"  But  he  will  have  gone  by  now !  "  exclaimed  Julie. 

The  marquis,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  was 
tying  the  handkerchief  over  his  head.  He  looked  compla- 
cently at  himself  in  the  glass. 

"What  has  become  of  the  servants  is  more  than  I  know," 
he  said.  "  I  rang  the  bell  three  times  for  Charles,  and  he 
did  not  answer  it.  And  your  maid  is  not  here  either.  Ring 
for  her.  I  should  like  another  blanket  on  my  bed  to-night." 

"  Pauline  is  out,"  the  marquise  said  drily. 

"  What,  at  midnight  ?  "  exclaimed  the  general. 

"  I  gave  her  leave  to  go  to  the  opera." 

"That  is  funny!"  returned  the  husband,  continuing  to 
undress.  "  I  thought  I  saw  her  coming  upstairs." 

"She  has  come  in  then,  of  course,"  said  Julie,  with  as- 
sumed impatience,  and  to  allay  any  possible  suspicion  on  her 
husband's  part  she  pretended  to  ring  the  bell. 

The  whole  history  of  that  night  has  never  been  known,  but 
no  doubt  it  was  as  simple  and  as  tragically  commonplace  as 
the  domestic  incidents  that  preceded  it. 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  75 

Next  day  the  Marquise  d'Aiglemont  took  to  her  bed,  nor 
did  she  leave  it  for  some  days. 

"  What  can  have  happened  in  your  family  so  extraordinary 
that  every  one  is  talking  about  your  wife?"  asked  M.  de  Ron- 
querolles  of  M.  d'Aiglemont'a  short  time  after  that  night  of 
catastrophes. 

"Take  my  advice  and  remain  a  bachelor,"  said  d'Aigle- 
mont. "The  curtains  of  Helene's  cot  caught  fire  and  gave 
my  wife  such  a  shock  that  it  will  be  a  twelvemonth  before  she 
gets  over  it ;  so  the  doctor  says.  You  marry  a  pretty  wife, 
and  her  looks  fall  off;  you  marry  a  girl  in  blooming  health, 
and  she  turns  into  an  invalid.  You  think  she  has  a  passionate 
temperament,  and  find  her  cold,  or  else  under  her  apparent 
coldness  there  lurks  a  nature  so  passionate  that  she  is  the  death 
of  you,  or  she  dishonors  your  name.  Sometimes  the  meekest 
of  them  will  turn  out  crotchety,  though  the  crotchety  ones 
never  grow  any  sweeter.  Sometimes  the  mere  child,  so  simple 
and  silly  at  first,  will  develop  an  iron  will  to  thwart  you  and 
the  ingenuity  of  a  fiend.  I  am  tired  of  marriage." 

"Or  of  your  wife?" 

"  That  would  be  difficult.  By-the-by,  do  you  feel  inclined 
to  go  to  Saint-Thomas  d'Aquin  with  me  to  attend  Lord  Gren- 
ville's  funeral  ?" 

"  A  singular  way  of  spending  time.  Is  it  really  known  how 
he  came  by  his  death  ?  "  added  Ronquerolles. 

"  His  man  says  that  he  spent  a  whole  night  sitting  on  some- 
body's window-sill  to  save  some  woman's  character,  and  it  has 
been  infernally  cold  lately." 

"  Such  devotion  would  be  highly  creditable  to  one  of  us  old 
stagers  ;  but  Lord  Grenville  was  a  youngster  and — an  English- 
man. Englishmen  never  can  do  anything  like  anybody  else." 

"  Pooh  !  "  returned  d'Aiglemont,  "  these  heroic  exploits  all 
depend  upon  the  woman  in  the  case,  and  it  certainly  was  not 
for  one  that  I  know  that  poor  Arthur  came  by  his  death." 


n, 

A  HIDDEN   GRIEF. 

Between  the  Seine  and  the  little  river  Loing  lies  a  wide  flat 
country,  skirted  on  the  one  side  by  the  Forest  of  Fontaine- 
bleau,  and  marked  out  as  to  its  southern  limits  by  the  towns 
of  Moret,  Montereau,  and  Nemours.  It  is  a  dreary  country ; 
little  knolls  of  hills  appear  only  at  rare  intervals,  and  a  cop- 
pice here  and  there  among  the  fields  affords  cover  for  game ; 
and  beyond,  upon  every  side,  stretches  the  endless  gray  or 
yellowish  horizon  peculiar  to  Beauce,  Sologne,  and  Berri. 

In  the  very  centre  of  the  plain,  at  equal  distances  from 
Moret  and  Montereau,  the  traveler  passes  the  old  castle  of 
Saint-Lange,  standing  amid  surroundings  which  lack  neither 
dignity  nor  stateliness.  There  are  magnificent  avenues  of  elm- 
trees,  great  gardens  encircled  by  the  moat,  and  a  circumfer- 
ence of  walls  about  a  huge  memorial  pile  which  represents  the 
profits  of  the  maltdte  (illegal  taxation),  the  gains  of  farmers- 
general,  legalized  malversation,  or  the  vast  fortunes  of  great 
houses  now  brought  low  beneath  the  hammer  of  the  Civil 
Code. 

Should  any  artist  or  dreamer  of  dreams  chance  to  stray  along 
the  roads  full  of  deep  ruts,  or  over  the  heavy  land  which  se- 
cures the  place  against  intrusion,  he  will  wonder  how  it  hap- 
pened that  this  romantic  old  place  was  set  down  in  a  savanna 
of  grain-land,  a  desert  of  chalk,  and  sand,  and  marl,  where 
gayety  dies  away  and  melancholy  is  a  natural  product  of  the 
soil.  The  voiceless  solitude,  the  monotonous  horizon-line 
which  weigh  upon  the  spirits,  are  negative  beauties,  which 
only  suit  with  sorrow  that  refuses  to  be  comforted. 

Hither,  at  the  close  of  the  year  1820,  came  a  woman,  still 
(76) 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  77 

young,  well  known  in  Paris  for  her  charm,  her  fair  face,  and 
her  wit ;  and  to  the  immense  astonishment  of  the  little  village 
a  mile  away,  this  woman  of  high  rank  and  corresponding  for- 
tune took  up  her  abode  at  Saint-Lange. 

From  time*  immemorial,  farmers  and  laborers  had  seen  no 
gentry  at  the  mansion.  The  estate,  considerable  though  it 
was,  had  been  left  in  charge  of  a  land-steward  and  the  house 
to  the  old  servants.  Wherefore  the  appearance  of  the  lady  of 
the  manor  caused  a  kind  of  sensation  in  the  district. 

A  group  had  gathered  in  the  yard  of  the  wretched  little  wine- 
shop at  the  end  of  the  village  (where  the  road  forks  to  Nemours 
and  Moret)  to  see  the  carriage  pass.  It  went  by  slowly,  for 
the  marquise  had  come  from  Paris  with  her  own  horses,  and 
those  on  the  lookout  had  ample  opportunity  of  observing  a 
waiting-maid,  who  sat  with  her  back  to  the  horses  holding  a 
Mttle  girl,  with  a  somewhat  dreamy  look,  upon  her  knee. 
The  child's  mother  lay  back  in  the  carriage ;  she  looked  like 
a  dying  woman  sent  out  into  country  air  by  her  doctors  as  a 
last  resource.  Village  politicians  were  by  no  means  pleased 
to  see  the  young,  delicate,  downcast  face;  they  had  hoped 
that  the  new  arrival  at  Saint-Lange  would  bring  some  life  and 
stir  into  the  neighborhood,  and  clearly  any  sort  of  stir  or 
movement  must  be  distasteful  to  the  suffering  invalid  in  the 
traveling  carriage. 

That  evening,  when  the  notables  of  Saint-Lange  were 
drinking  in  the  private  room  of  the  wineshop,  the  longest 
head  among  them  declared  that  such  depression  could  admit 
of  but  one  construction — the  marquise  was  ruined.  His  lord- 
ship the  marquis  was  away  in  Spain  with  the  Due  d'AngoulSme 
(so  they  said  in  the  papers),  and  beyond  a  doubt  her  ladyship 
had  come  to  Saint-Lange  to  retrench  after  a  run  of  ill-luck  on 
the  Bourse.  The  marquis  was  one  of  the  greatest  gamblers 
on  the  face  of  the  globe.  Perhaps  the  estate  would  be  cut  up 
and  sold  in  little  lots.  There  would  be  some  good  strokes  of 
business  to  be  made  in  that  case,  and  it  behooved  everybody 


78  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

to  count  up  his  cash,  unearth  his  savings,  and  to  see  how  he 
stood,  so  as  to  secure  his  share  of  the  spoil  of  Saint-Lange. 

So  fair  did  this  future  seem  that  the  village  worthies,  dying 
to  know  whether  it  was  founded  on  fact,  began  to  think  of 
ways  of  getting  at  the  truth  through  the  servants  at  the  manor- 
house.  None  of  these,  however,  could  throw  any  light  on 
the  calamity  which  had  brought  their  mistress  into  the  country 
at  the  beginning  of  winter,  and  to  the  old  castle  of  Saint- 
Lange  of  all  places,  when  she  might  have  taken  her  choice  of 
cheerful  country-houses  famous  for  their  beautiful  gardens. 

His  worship  the  mayor  called  to  pay  his  respects ;  but  he 
did  not  see  the  lady.  Then  the  land-steward  tried  with  no 
better  success. 

Madame  la  Marquise  kept  her  room,  only  leaving  it,  while 
it  was  set  in  order,  for  the  small  adjoining  drawing-room, 
where  she  dined ;  if,  indeed,  to  sit  down  to  a  table,  to  look 
with  disgust  at  the  dishes,  and  taking  the  precise  amount  of 
nourishment  required  to  prevent  death  from  sheer  starvation, 
can  be  called  dining.  The  meal  over,  she  returned  at  once 
to  the  old-fashioned  low  chair,  in  which  she  had  sat  since  the 
morning,  in  the  embrasure  of  the  one  window  that  lighted 
her  room. 

Her  little  girl  she  only  saw  for  a  few  minutes  daily,  during 
the  dismal  dinner,  and  even  for  that  short  time  she  seemed 
scarcely  able  to  bear  the  child's  presence.  Surely  nothing 
but  the  most  unheard-of  anguish  could  have  extinguished  a 
mother's  love  so  early. 

None  of  the  servants  were  suffered  to  come  near,  her  own 
woman  was  the  one  creature  whom  she  liked  to  have  about 
her;  the  castle  must  be  perfectly  quiet,  the  child  must  play  at 
the  other  end  of  the  house.  The  slightest  sound  had  grown 
so  intolerable  that  any  human  voice,  even  the  voice  of  her 
own  child,  jarred  upon  her. 

At  first  the  whole  countryside  was  deeply  interested  in  these 
eccentricities  j  but  time  passed  on,  every  possible  hypothesis 


A   WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  79 

had  been  advanced  to  account  for  them,  and  the  peasants  and 
dwellers  in  the  little  country  towns  thought  no  more  of  the 
invalid  lady. 

So  the  marquise  was  left  to  herself.  She  might  live  on, 
perfectly  silent,  amid  the  silence  which  she  herself  had  cre- 
ated ;  there  was  nothing  to  draw  her  forth  from  the  tapestried 
chamber  where  her  grandmother  had  died,  whither  she  her- 
self had  come  that  she  might  die,  gently,  without  witnesses, 
without  importunate  solicitude,  without  suffering  from  the 
insincere  demonstrations  of  egoism  masquerading  as  affection, 
which  double  the  agony  of  death  in  great  cities. 

She  was  twenty-six  years  old.  At  that  age,  with  plenty  of 
romantic  illusions  still  left,  the  mind  loves  to  dwell  on  the 
thought  of  death  when  death  seems  to  come  as  a  friend.  But 
with  youth,  death  is  coy,  coming  up  close  only  to  go  away, 
showing  himself  and  hiding  again,  till  youth  has  time  to  fall 
out  of  jlove  with  him  during  this  dalliance.  There  is  that  un- 
certainty, too,  that  hangs  over  death's  to-morrow.  Youth 
plunges  back  into  the  world  of  living  men,  there  to  find  the 
pain  more  pitiless  than  death,  that  does  not  wait  to  strike. 

This  woman  who  refused  to  live  was  to  know  the  bitterness 
of  these  reprieves  in  the  depths  of  her  loneliness ;  in  moral 
agony,  which  death  would  not  come  to  end,  she  was  to  serve 
a  terrible  apprenticeship  to  the  egoism  which  must  take  the 
bloom  from  her  heart  and  break  her  in  to  the  life  of  the 
world. 

This  harsh  and  sorry  teaching  is  the  usual  outcome  of  our 
early  sorrows.  For  the  first,  and  perhaps  for  the  last  time  in 
her  life,  the  Marquise  d'Aiglemont  was  in  very  truth  suffering. 
And,  indeed,  would  it  not  be  an  error  to  suppose  that  the 
same  sentiment  can  be  reproduced  in  us?  Once  develop  the 
power  to  feel,  is  it  not  always  there  in  the  depths  of  our  na- 
ture? The  accidents  of  life  may  lull  or  awaken  it,  but  there 
it  is,  of  necessity  modifying  the  self,  its  abiding-place.  Hence, 
every  sensation  should  have  its  great  day  once  and  for  all,  its 


80  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

first  day  of  storm,  be  it  long  or  short.  Hence,  likewise,  pain, 
the  most  abiding  of  our  sensations,  could  be  keenly  felt  only 
at  its  first  irruption,  its  intensity  diminishing  with  every  sub- 
sequent paroxysm,  either  because  we  grow  accustomed  to 
these  crises,  or  perhaps  because  a  natural  instinct  of  self-pre- 
servation asserts  itself  and  opposes  to  the  destroying  force  of 
anguish  an  equal  but  passive  force  of  inertia. 

Yet  of  all  kinds  of  suffering,  to  which  does  the  name  of  an- 
guish belong  ?  For  the  loss  of  parents,  Nature  has  in  a  manner 
prepared  us ;  physical  suffering,  again,  is  an  evil  which  passes 
over  us  and  is  gone ;  it  lays  no  hold  upon  the  soul ;  if  it  per- 
sists, it  ceases  to  be  an  evil,  it  is  death.  The  young  mother 
loses  her  firstborn,  but  wedded  love  ere  long  gives  her  a  suc- 
cessor. This  grief,  too,  is  transient.  After  all,  these,  and 
many  other  troubles  like  unto  them,  are  in  some  sort  wounds 
and  bruises ;  they  do  not  sap  the  springs  of  vitality,  and  only 
a  succession  of  such  blows  can  crush  in  us  the  instinct  that 
seeks  happiness.  Great  pain,  therefore — pain  that  rises  to  an- 
guish— should  be  suffering  so  deadly  that  past,  present,  and 
future  are  alike  included  in  its  grip  and  no  part  of  life  is  left 
sound  and  whole.  Never  afterward  can  we  think  the  same 
thoughts  as  before.  Anguish  engraves  itself  in  ineffaceable 
characters  on  mouth  and  brow;  it  passes  through  us,  destroying 
or  relaxing  the  springs  that  vibrate  to  enjoyment,  leaving  be- 
hind in  the  soul  the  seeds  of  a  disgust  for  all  things  in  this 
world. 

Yet,  again,  to  be  measureless,  to  weigh  like  this  upon  body 
and  soul,  the  trouble  should  befall  when  soul  and  body  have 
just  come  to  their  full  strength,  and  smite  down  a  heart  that 
beats  high  with  life.  Then  it  is  that  great  scars  are  made. 
Terrible  is  the  anguish.  None,  it  may  be,  can  issue  from  this 
soul-sickness  without  undergoing  some  dramatic  change. 
Those  who  survive  it,  those  who  remain  on  earth,  return  to 
the  world  to  wear  an  actor's  countenance  and  to  play  an 
actor's  part.  They  know  the  side-scenes  whither  actors  retire 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  81 

to  calculate  chances,  shed  their  tears,  or  pass  their  jests. 
Life  holds  no  inscrutable  dark-places  for  those  who  have 
passed  through  this  ordeal ;  their  judgments  are  Rhada- 
manthine. 

For  young  women  of  the  Marquise  d'Aiglemont's  age,  this 
first,  this  most  poignant  pain  of  all,  is  always  referable  to  the 
same  cause.  A  woman,  especially  if  she  is  a  young  woman, 
greatly  beautiful  and  by  nature  great,  never  fails  to  stake  her 
whole  life  as  instinct  and  sentiment  and  society  all  unite  to 
bid  her.  Suppose  that  that  life  fails  her,  suppose  that  she  still 
lives  on,  she  cannot  but  endure  the  most  cruel  pangs,  inas- 
much as  a  first-love  is  the  loveliest  of  all.  How  comes  it  that 
this  catastrophe  has  found  no  painter,  no  poet  ?  And  yet, 
can  it  be  painted  ?  Can  it  be  sung  ?  No ;  for  the  anguish 
arising  from  it  eludes  analysis  and  defies  the  colors  of  art. 
And  more  than  this,  such  pain  is  never  confessed.  To  con- 
sole the  sufferer,  you  must  be  able  to  divine  the  past  which  she 
hugs  in  bitterness  to  her  soul  like  a  remorse  ;  it  is  like  an 
avalanche  in  a  valley,  it  laid  all  waste  before  it  found  a  per- 
manent resting-place. 

The  marquise  was  suffering  from  this  anguish,  which  will 
for  long  remain  unknown,  because  the  whole  world  condemns 
it,  while  sentiment  cherishes  it,  and  the  conscience  of  a  true 
woman  justifies  her  in  it.  It  is  with  such  pain  as  with  chil- 
dren steadily  disowned  of  life,  and  therefore  bound  more 
closely  to  the  mother's  heart  than  other  children  more  boun- 
teously endowed.  Never,  perhaps,  was  the  awful  catastrophe 
in  which  the  whole  world  without  dies  for  us,  so  deadly,  so 
complete,  so  cruelly  aggravated  by  circumstance  as  it  had 
been  for  the  marquise.  The  man  whom  she  had  loved  was 
young  and  generous ;  in  obedience  to  the  laws  of  the  world, 
she  had  refused  herself  to  his  love,  and  he  had  died  to  save  a 
woman's  honor,  as  the  world  calls  it.  To  whom  could  she 
speak  of  her  misery  ?  Her  tears  would  be  an  offense  to  her 
husband,  the  origin  of  the  tragedy.  By  all  laws  written  and 
6 


82  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

unwritten  she  was  bound  over  to  silence.  A  woman  would 
have  enjoyed  the  story ;  a  man  would  have  schemed  for  his 
own  benefit.  No ;  such  grief  as  hers  can  only  weep  freely  in 
solitude  and  in  loneliness ;  she  must  consume  her  pain  or  be 
consumed  by  it;  die  or  kill  something  within  her — her  con- 
science, it  may  be. 

Day  after  day  she  sat  gazing  at  the  flat  horizon.  It  lay  out 
before  her  like  her  own  life  to  come.  There  was  nothing  to 
discover,  nothing  to  hope.  The  whole  of  it  could  be  seen  at  a 
glance.  It  was  the  visible  presentment  in  the  outward  world 
of  the  chill  sense  of  desolation  which  was  gnawing  restlessly 
at  her  heart.  The  misty  mornings,  the  pale,  bright  sky,  the 
low  clouds  scudding  under  the  gray  dome  of  heaven,  fitted 
with  the  moods  of  her  soul-sickness.  Her  heart  did  not  con- 
tract, was  neither  more  nor 'less  seared,  rather  it  seemed  as  if 
her  youth,  in  its  full  blossom,  was  slowly  turned  to  stone  by 
an  anguish  intolerable  because  it  was  barren.  She  suffered 
through  herself  and  for  herself.  How  could  it  end  save  in 
self-absorption  ?  Ugly  torturing  thoughts  probed  her  con- 
science. Candid  self-examination  pronounced  that  she  was 
double,  there  were  two  selves  within  her ;  a  woman  who  felt 
and  a  woman  who  thought ;  a  self  that  suffered  and  a  self  that 
would  fain  suffer  no  longer.  Her  mind  traveled  back  to  the 
joys  of  childish  days ;  they  had  gone  by,  and  she  had  never 
known  how  happy  they  were.  Scenes  crowded  up  in  her 
memory  as  in  a  bright  mirror-glass,  to  demonstrate  the  decep- 
tion of  a  marriage  which — all  that  it  should  be  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world — was  in  reality  so  wretched.  What  had  the  delicate 
pride  of  young  womanhood  done  for  her — the  bliss  forgone, 
the  sacrifices  made  to  the  world?  Everything  in  her  ex- 
pressed love,  awaited  love ;  her  movements  still  were  full  of 
perfect  grace;  her  smile,  her  charm,  were  hers  as  before; 
why?  she  asked  herself.  The  sense  of  her  own  youth  and 
physical  loveliness  no  more  affected  her  than  some  meaning- 
less reiterated  sound.  Her  very  beauty  had  grown  intolerable 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIKTY.  83 

to  her  as  a  useless  thing.  She  shrank  aghast  from  the  thought 
that  through  the  rest  of  life  she  must  remain  an  incomplete 
creature;  had  not  the  inner  self  lost  its  power  of  receiving 
impressions  with  that  zest,  that  exquisite  sense  of  freshness 
which  is  the  spring  of  so  much  of  life's  gladness?  The  im- 
pressions of  the  future  would  for  the  most  part  be  effaced  as 
soon  as  received,  and  many  of  the  thoughts  which  once  would 
have  moved  her  now  would  move  her  no  more. 

After  the  childhood  of  the  creature  dawns  the  childhood  of 
the  heart ;  but  this  second  infancy  was  over,  her  lover  had 
taken  it  down  with  him  into  the  grave.  The  longings  of  youth 
remained ;  she  was  young  yet ;  but  the  completeness  of  youth 
was  gone,  and  with  that  lost  completeness  the  whole  value 
and  savor  of  life  had  diminished  somewhat.  Would  she  not 
always  bear  within  her  the  seeds  of  sadness  and  mistrust,  ready 
to  grow  up  and  rob  emotion  of  its  springtide  of  fervor?  Con- 
scious she  must  always  be  that  nothing  could  give  her  now  the 
happiness  so  longed  for,  that  seemed  so  fair  in  her  dreams. 
The  fire  from  heaven  that  sheds  abroad  its  light  in  the  heart, 
in  the  dawn  of  love,  had  been  quenched  in  tears,  the  first  real 
tears  which  she  had  shed ;  henceforth  she  must  always  suffer, 
because  it  was  no  longer  in  her  power  to  be  what  once  she 
might  have  been.  This  is  a  belief  which  turns  us  in  aversion 
and  bitterness  of  spirit  from  any  proffered  new  delight. 

Julie  had  come  to  look  at  life  from  the  point  of  view  of 
age  about  to  die.  Young  though  she  felt,  the  heavy  weight 
of  joyless  days  had  fallen  upon  her,  and  left  her  broken- 
spirited  and  old  before  her  time.  With  a  despairing  cry,  she 
asked  the  world  what  it  could  give  her  in  exchange  for  the 
love  now  lost,  by  which  she  had  lived.  She  asked  herself 
whether  in  that  vanished  love,  so  chaste  and  pure,  her  will 
had  not  been  more  criminal  than  her  deeds,  and  chose  to 
believe  herself  guilty ;  partly  to  affront  the  world,  partly  for 
her  own  consolation,  in  that  she  had  missed  the  close  union 
of  body  and  soul,  which  diminishes  the  pain  of  the  one  who 


84  A    WOMAN  t>F  THIRTY. 

is  left  behind  by  the  knowledge  that  once  it  has  known  and 
given  joy  to  the  full,  and  retains  within  itself  the  impress  of 
that  which  is  no  more. 

Something  of  the  mortification  of  the  actress  cheated  of 
her  part  mingled  with  the  pain  which  thrilled  through  every 
fibre  of  her  heart  and  brain.  Her  nature  had  been  thwarted, 
her  vanity  wounded,  her  woman's  generosity  cheated  of  self- 
sacrifice.  Then,  when  she  had  raised  all  these  questions,  set 
vibrating  all  the  strings  in  those  different  phases  of  being 
which  we  distinguish  as  social,  moral,  and  physical,  her  ener- 
gies were  so  far  exhausted  and  relaxed  that  she  was  powerless 
to  grasp  a  single  thought  amid  the  chaos  of  conflicting  ideas. 

Sometimes,  as  the  mists  fell,  she  would  throw  her  window 
open,  and  would  stay  there,  motionless,  breathing  in  unheed- 
ingly  the  damp  earthy  scent  in  the  air,  her  mind  to  all  ap- 
pearance an  unintelligent  blank,  for  the  ceaseless  burden  of 
sorrow  humming  in  her  brain  left  her  deaf  to  earth's  harmonies 
and  insensible  to  the  delights  of  thought. 

One  day,  toward  noon,  when  the  sun  shone  out  for  a  little, 
her  maid  came  in  without  a  summons. 

"This  is  the  fourth  time  that  Monsieur  le  Cure  has  come 
to  see  Madame  la  Marquise ;  to-day  he  is  so  determined 
about  it  that  we  did  not  know  what  to  tell  him." 

"  He  has  come  to  ask  for  some  money  for  the  poor,  no 
doubt;  take  him  twenty-five  louis  from  me." 

The  woman  went  only  to  return. 

"Monsieur  le  Cure  will  not  take  the  money,  my  lady;  he 
wants  to  speak  to  you." 

"  Then  let  him  come  !  "  said  Mme.  d'Aiglemont,  with  an 
involuntary  shrug  which  augured  ill  for  the  priest's  reception. 
Evidently  the  lady  meant  to  put  a  stop  to  persecution  by  a 
short  and  sharp  method. 

Mme.  d'Aiglemont  had  lost  her  mother  in  her  early  child- 
hood, and,  as  a  natural  consequence  in  her  bringing-up,  she  had 
felt  the  influences  of  the  relaxed  notions  which  loosened  the 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  85 

hold  of  religion  upon  France  during  the  Revolution.  Piety 
is  a  womanly  virtue  which  women  alone  can  really  instill ; 
and  the  marquise,  a  child  of  the  eighteenth  century,  had 
adopted  her  father's  creed  of  philosophism  and  practiced  no 
religious  observances.  A  priest,  to  her  way  of  thinking,  was  a 
civil  servant  of  very  doubtful  utility.  In  her  present  position, 
the  teaching  of  religion  could  only  poison  her  wounds;  she 
had,  moreover,  but  scanty  faith  in  the  lights  of  country 
parsons,  and  made  up  her  mind  to  put  this  one  gently  but 
firmly  in  his  place,  and  to  rid  herself  of  him,  after  the  manner 
of  the  rich,  by  bestowing  a  benefit. 

At  first  sight  of  the  cure  the  marquise  felt  no  inclination 
to  change  her  mind.  She  saw  before  her  a  stout,  rotund  little 
man,  with  a  ruddy,  wrinkled,  elderly  face,  which  awkwardly 
and  unsuccessfully  tried  to  smile.  His  bald,  quadrant-shaped 
forehead,  furrowed  by  intersecting  lines,  was  too  heavy  for 
the  rest  of  his  face,  which  seemed  to  be  dwarfed  by  it.  A 
fringe  of  scanty,  white  hair  encircled  the  back  of  his  head, 
and  almost  reached  his  ears.  Yet  the  priest  looked  as  if  by 
nature  he  had  a  genial  disposition  ;  his  thick  lips,  his  slightly 
curved  nose,  his  chin  which  vanished  in  a  double  fold  of 
wrinkles — all  marked  him  out  as  a  man  who  took  cheerful 
views  of  life. 

At  first  the  marquise  saw  nothing  but  these  salient  charac- 
teristics, but  at  the  first  word  she  was  struck  by  the  sweetness 
of  the  speaker's  voice.  Looking  at  him  more  closely,  she 
saw  that  the  eyes  under  the  grizzled  eyebrows  had  shed  tears, 
and  his  face,  turned  in  profile,  wore  so  sublime  an  impress 
of  sorrow  that  the  marquise  recognized  the  man  in  the  cure". 

"  Madame  la  Marquise,  the  rich  only  come  within  our 
province  when  they  are  in  trouble.  It  is  easy  to  see  that 
the  troubles  of  a  young,  beautiful,  and  wealthy  married  woman, 
who  has  lost  neither  children  nor  relatives,  are  caused  by 
wounds  whose  pangs  religion  alone  can  soothe.  Your  soul  is 
in  danger,  madame.  I  am  not  now  speaking  of  the  hereafter 


86  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

which  awaits  us.  No,  I  am  not  in  the  confessional.  But  it 
is  my  duty,  is  it  not,  to  open  your  eyes  to  your  future  life 
here  on  earth?  You  will  pardon  an  old  man,  will  you  not, 
for  the  importunity  which  has  your  own  happiness  for  its 
object?" 

"There  is  no  more  happiness  for  me,  monsieur.  I  shall 
soon  be,  as  you  say,  in  your  province ;  but  it  will  be  for 
ever."  ' 

"  Nay,  madame.  You  will  not  die  of  this  pain  which  lies 
heavy  upon  you,  and  can  be  read  in  your  face.  If  you  had 
been  destined  to  die  of  it,  you  would  not  be  here  at  Saint- 
Lange.  A  definite  regret  is  not  so  deadly  as  hope  deferred. 
I  have  known  others  pass  through  more  intolerable  and  more 
awful  anguish,  and  yet  they  live." 

The  marquise  looked  incredulous. 

"  Madame,  I  know  a  man  whose  affliction  was  so  sore  that 
your  trouble  would  seem  to  you  to  be  light  compared  with 
his." 

Perhaps  the  long  solitary  hours  had  begun  to  hang  heavily ; 
perhaps  in  the  recesses  of  the  marquise's  mind  lay  the  thought 
that  here  was  a  friendly  heart  to  whom  she  might  be  able  to 
pour  out  her  troubles.  However  it  was,  she  gave  the  rector  a 
questioning  glance  which  could  not  be  mistaken. 

"  Madame,"  he  continued,  "  the  man  of  whom  I  tell  you 
had  but  three  children  left  of  a  once  large  family  circle.  He 
lost  his  parents,  his  daughter,  and  his  wife,  whom  he  dearly 
loved.  He  was  left  alone  at  last  on  the  little  farm  where  he 
had  lived  so  happily  for  so  long.  His  three  sons  were  in  the 
army,  and  each  of  the  lads  had  risen  in  proportion  to  his  time 
of  service.  During  the  Hundred  Days,  the  oldest  went  into 
the  Guard  with  a  colonel's  commission  ;  the  second  was  a 
major  in  the  artillery ;  the  youngest  a  major  in  a  regiment  of 
dragoons.  Madame,  those  three  boys  loved  their  father  as 
much  as  he  loved  them.  If  you  but  knew  how  careless  young 
fellows  grow  of  home  ties  when  they  are  carried  away  by  the 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  87 

current  of  their  own  lives,  you  would  realize  from  this  one 
little  thing  how  warmly  they  loved  the  lonely  old  father,  who 
only  lived  in  and  for  them — never  a  week  passed  without  a 
letter  from  one  of  the  boys.  But,  then,  he  on  his  side  had 
never  been  weakly  indulgent,  to  lessen  their  respect  for  him  ; 
nor  unjustly  severe,  to  thwart  their  affection  ;  nor  apt  to 
grudge  sacrifices,  the  thing  that  estranges  children's  hearts. 
He  had  been  more  than  a  father ;  he  had  been  a  brother  to 
them,  and  their  friend. 

"At  last  he  went  to  Paris  to  bid  them  good-by  before  they 
set  out  for  Belgium  ;  he  wished  to  see  that  they  had  good 
horses  and  all  that  they  needed.  And  so  they  went,  and  the 
father  returned  to  his  home  again.  Then  the  war  began. 
He  had  letters  from  Fleurus,  and  again  from  Ligny.  All  went 
well.  Then  came  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  and  you  know  the 
rest.  France  was  plunged  into  mourning ;  every  family 
waited  in  intense  anxiety  for  news.  You  may  imagine,  mad- 
ame,  how  the  old  man  waited  for  tidings,  in  anxiety  that 
knew  nor  peace  nor  rest.  He  used  to  read  the  gazettes  ;  he 
went  to  the  coach-office  every  day.  One  evening  he  was  told 
that  the  colonel's  servant  had  come.  The  man  was  riding 
his  master's  horse — what  need  was  there  to  ask  any  questions  ? 
— the  colonel  was  dead,  cut  in  two  by  a  shell.  Before  the 
evening  was  out  the  youngest  son's  servant  arrived — the 
youngest  had  died  on  the  eve  of  the  battle.  At  midnight 
came  a  gunner  with  tidings  of  the  death  of  the  last ;  upon 
whom,  in  those  few  hours,  the  poor  father  had  centred  all  his 
life.  Madame,  they  all  had  fallen." 

After  a  pause  the  good  man  controlled  his  feelings,  and 
added  gently — 

"And  their  father  is  still  living,  madame.  He  realized 
that  if  God  had  left  him  on  earth,  he  was  bound  to  live  on 
and  suffer  on  earth ;  but  he  took  refuge  in  the  sanctuary. 
What  could  he  be?" 

The  marquise  looked  up  and  saw  the  curb's  face,  grown 


88  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

sublime  in  its  sorrow  and  resignation,  and  waited  for  him  to 
speak.  When  the  words  came,  tears  broke  from  her. 

"A  priest,  madame;  consecrated  by  his  own  tears  pre- 
viously shed  at  the  foot  of  the  altar." 

Silence  prevailed  for  a  little.  The  marquise  and  the  cure 
looked  out  at  the  foggy  landscape,  as  if  they  could  see  the 
figures  of  those  who  were  no  more. 

"  Not  a  priest  in  a  city,  but  a  simple  country  cure,"  added 
he. 

"At  Saint-Lange ? "  she  said,  drying  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  madame." 

Never  had  the  majesty  of  grief  seemed  so  great  to  Julie. 
The  two  words  sank  straight  into  her  heart  with  the  weight  of 
an  infinite  sorrow.  The  gentle,  sonorous  tones  troubled  her 
heart.  Ah  !  that  full,  deep  voice,  charged  with  undulated 
vibration,  was  the  voice  of  one  who  had  suffered  indeed. 

"And  if  I  do  not  die,  monsieur,  what  will  become  of  me  ?  " 
The  marquise  spoke  almost  reverently. 

"  Have  you  not  a  child,  madame?  " 

"Yes,"  she  said  stiffly. 

The  cure  gave  her  a  glance  such  as  a  doctor  gives  a  patient 
whose  life  is  in  danger.  Then  he  determined  to  do  all  that 
in  him  lay  to  combat  the  evil  spirit  into  whose  clutches  she 
had  fallen. 

"  We  must  live  on  with  our  sorrows — you  see  it  yourself, 
madame — and  religion  alone  offers  us  real  consolation.  Will 
you  permit  me  to  come  again  ?  to  speak  to  you  as  a  man  who 
can  sympathize  with  every  trouble,  a  man  about  whom  there 
is  nothing  very  alarming,  I  think?" 

"Yes,  monsieur,  come  back  again.  Thank  you  for  your 
thought  of  me." 

"Very  well,  madame;  then  I  shall  return  very  shortly." 

This  visit  'relaxed  the  tension  of  soul,  as  it  were ;  the  heavy 
strain  of  grief  and  loneliness  had  been  almost  too  much  for  the 
marquise's  strength.  The  priest's  visit  had  left  a  soothing 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  89 

balm  in  her  heart,  his  words  thrilled  through  her  with  healing 
influence.  She  began  to  feel  something  of  a  prisoner's  satis- 
faction when,  after  he  has  had  time  to  feel  his  utter  loneliness 
and  the  weight  of  his  chains,  he  hears  a  neighbor  knocking  on 
the  wall,  and  welcomes  the  sound  which  brings  a  sense  of 
human  fellowship.  Here  was  an  unhoped-for  confidant.  But 
this  feeling  did  not  last  for  long.  Soon  she  sank  back  into 
the  old  bitterness  of  spirit,  saying  to  herself,  as  the  prisoner 
might  say,  that  a  companion  in  misfortune  could  neither 
lighten  her  own  bondage  nor  her  future. 

In  the  first  visit  the  cure  had  feared  to  alarm  the  suscepti- 
bilities of  self-absorbed  grief,  in  a  second  interview  he  hoped 
to  make  some  progress  toward  religion.  He  came  back  again 
two  days  later,  and  from  the  marquise's  welcome  it  was  plain 
that  she  had  looked  forward  to  the  visit. 

"  Well,  Madame  la  Marquise,  have  you  given  a  little  thought 
to  the  great  mass  of  human  suffering  ?  Have  you  raised  your 
eyes  above  our  earth  and  seen  the  immensity  of  the  universe  ? 
the  worlds  beyond  worlds  which  crush  our  vanity  into  insig- 
nificance, and  with  our  vanity  reduce  our  sorrows?  " 

"No,  monsieur,"  she  said  ;  "I  cannot  rise  to  such  heights, 
our  social  laws  lie  too  heavily  upon  me  and  rend  my  heart 
with  a  too  poignant  anguish.  And  laws,  perhaps,  are  less  cruel 
than  the  usages  of  the  world.  Ah  !  the  world  !  " 

"  Madame,  we  must  obey  both.  Law  is  the  doctrine,  and 
custom  the  practice  of  society." 

"Obey  society?"  cried  the  marquise,  with  an  involuntary 
shudder.  "Eh  !  monsieur,  it  is  the  source  of  all  our  woes. 
God  laid  down  no  law  to  make  us  miserable ;  but  mankind, 
uniting  together  in  social  life,  have  perverted  God's  work. 
Civilization  deals  harder  measure  to  us  women  than  nature 
does.  Nature  imposes  upon  us  physical  suffering  which  you 
have  not  alleviated ;  civilization  has  developed  in  us  thoughts 
and  feelings  which  you  cheat  continually.  Nature  ^termi- 
nates the  weak ;  you  condemn  them  to  live,  and,  by  ;;o  doing, 


90  A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY. 

consign  them  to  a  life  of  misery.  The  whole  weight  of  the 
burden  of  marriage,  an  institution  on  which  society  is  based, 
falls  upon  us ;  for  the  man  liberty,  duties  for  the  woman.  We 
must  give  up  our  whole  lives  to  you,  you  are  only  bound  to 
give  us  a  few  moments  of  yours.  A  man,  in  fact,  makes  a 
choice,  while  we  blindly  submit.  Oh,  monsieur,  to  you  I  can 
speak  freely.  Marriage,  in  these  days,  seems  to  me  to  be 
legalized  prostitution.  This  is  the  cause  of  my  wretchedness. 
But  among  so  many  miserable  creatures  so  unhappily  yoked, 
I  alone  am  bound  to  be  silent,  I  alone  am  to  blame  for  my 
misery.  My  marriage  was  my  own  doing." 

She  stopped  short,  and  bitter  tears  fell  in  the  silence. 

"  In  the  depths  of  my  wretchedness,  in  the  midst  of  this  sea 
of  distress,"  she  went  on,  "I  found  some  sands  on  which  to 
set  foot  and  suffer  at  leisure.  A  great  tempest  swept  every- 
thing away.  And  here  am  I,  helpless  and  alone,  too  weak  to 
cope  with  storms." 

"  We  are  never  weak  while  God  is  with  us,"  said  the  priest. 
"And  if  your  cravings  for  affection  cannot  be  satisfied  here 
on  earth,  have  you  no  duties  to  perform?" 

"Duties  continually!"  she  exclaimed,  with  something  of 
impatience  in  her  tone.  "  But  where  for  me  are  the  senti- 
ments which  give  us  strength  to  perform  them  ?  Nothing  from 
nothing,  nothing  for  nothing — this,  monsieur,  is  one  of  the 
most  inexorable  laws  of  nature,  physical  or  spiritual.  Would 
you  have  these  trees  break  into  leaf  without  the  sap  which 
swells  the  buds?  It  is  the  same  with  our  human  nature ;  and 
in  me  the  sap  is  dried  up  at  its  source." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  speak  to  you  of  religious  sentiments  of 
which  resignation  is  born,"  said  the  rector,  "but  of  mother- 
hood, madame,  surely " 

"Stop,  monsieur!"  said  the  marquise,  "with  you  I  will 
be  sincere.  Alas  !  in  future  I  can  be  sincere  with  no  one ;  I 
am  condemned  to  falsehood.  The  world  requires  continual 
grimaces,  and  we  are  bidden  to  obey  its  conventions  if  we 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  91 

would  escape  reproach.  There  are  two  kinds  of  motherhood, 
monsieur ;  once  I  knew  nothing  of  such  distinctions,  but  I 
know  them  now.  Only  half  of  me  has  become  a  mother;  it 
were  better  for  me  if  I  had  not  been  a  mother  at  all.  Helena 
is  not  his  child  !  Oh  !  do  not  start.  At  Saint-Lange  there 
are  volcanic  depths  whence  come  lurid  gleams  of  light  and 
earthquake  shocks  to  shake  the  fragile  edifices  of  laws  not 
based  on  nature.  I  have  borne  a  child,  that  is  enough,  I  am 
a  mother  in  the  eye  of  the  law.  But  you,  monsieur,  with 
your  delicately  compassionate  soul,  can  perhaps  understand 
this  cry  from  an  unhappy  woman  who  has  suffered  no  lying 
illusions  to  enter  her  heart.  God  will  judge  me,  but  surely  I 
have  only  obeyed  His  laws  by  giving  way  to  the  affections 
which  He  Himself  set  in  me,  and  this  I  have  learned  from 
my  own  soul.  What  is  a  child,  monsieur,  but  the  image  of 
two  beings,  the  fruit  of  two  sentiments  spontaneously  blended? 
Unless  it  is  owned  by  every  fibre  of  the  body,  as  by  every 
chord  of  tenderness  in  the  heart ;  unless  it  recalls  the  bliss 
of  love,  the  hours,  the  places  where  two  creatures  were 
happy,  their  words  that  overflowed  with  the  music  of  humanity, 
and  their  sweet  imaginings,  that  child  is  an  incomplete  crea- 
tion. Yes,  those  two  should  find  the  poetic  dreams  of  their 
intimate  double  life  realized  in  their  child  as  in  an  exquisite 
miniature;  it  should  be  for  them  a  never-failing  spring  of 
emotion,  implying  their  whole  past  and  their  whole  future. 

"My  poor  little  Helene  is  her  father's  child,  the  offspring 
of  duty  and  of  chance.  In  me  she  finds  nothing  but  the 
affection  of  instinct,  the  woman's  natural  compassion  for  the 
child  of  her  womb.  Socially  speaking,  I  am  above  reproach. 
Have  I  not  sacrificed  my  life  and  my  happiness  to  my  child? 
Her  cries  go  to  my  heart;  if  she  were  to  fall  into  the  water,  I 
should  spring  to  save  her,  but  she  is  not  in  my  heart. 

"  Ah  !  love  set  me  dreaming  of  a  motherhood  far  greater 
and  more  complete.  In  a  vanished  dream  I  held  in  r  y  arms 
a  child  conceived  in  desire  before  it  was  begotten,  the  ex- 


92  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

quisite  flower  of  life  that  blossoms  in  the  soul  before  it  sees 
the  light  of  day.  I  am  Helene's  mother  only  in  the  sense 
that  I  brought  her  forth.  When  she  needs  me  no  longer, 
there  will  be  an  end  of  my  motherhood ;  with  the  extinction 
of  the  cause,  the  effects  will  cease.  If  it  is  a  woman's  adorable 
prerogative  that  her  motherhood  may  last  through  her  child's 
life,  surely  that  divine  persistence  of  sentiment  is  due  to  the 
far-reaching  glory  of  the  conception  of  the  soul  ?  Unless  a 
child  has  lain  wrapped  about  from  life's  first  beginnings  by 
the  mother's  soul,  the  instinct  of  motherhood  dies  in  her  as 
in  the  animals.  This  is  true ;  I  feel  that  it  is  true.  As  my 
poor  little  one  grows  older,  my  heart  closes.  My  sacrifices 
have  driven  us  apart.  And  yet  I  know,  monsieur,  that  to 
another  child  my  heart  would  have  gone  out  in  inexhaustible 
love ;  for  that  other  I  should  not  have  known  what  sacrifice 
meant,  all  had  been  delight.  In  this,  monsieur,  my  instincts  are 
stronger  than  reason,  stronger  than  religion  or  all  else  in  me. 
Does  the  woman  who  is  neither  wife  nor  mother  sin  in  wish- 
ing to  die  when,  for  her  misfortune,  she  has  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  infinite  beauty  of  love,  the  limitless  joy  of  motherhood  ? 
What  can  become  of  her?  /can  tell  you  what  she  feels.  I 
cannot  put  that  memory  from  me  so  resolutely  but  that  a 
hundred  times,  night  and  day,  visions  of  a  happiness,  greater 
it  may  be  than  the  reality,  rise  before  me,  followed  by  a 
shudder  which  shakes  brain  and  heart  and  body.  Before 
these  cruel  visions,  my  feelings  and  thoughts  grow  colorless, 
and  I  ask  myself:  '  What  would  my  life  have  been  if- ?  '  " 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  burst  into  tears. 

"There  you  see  the  depths  of  my  heart !  "  she  continued. 
"  For  his  child  I  could  have  acquiesced  in  any  lot  however 
dreadful.  He  who  died,  bearing  the  burden  of  the  sins  of  the 
world,  will  forgive  this  thought  of  which  I  am  dying;  but  the 
world,  I  know,  is  merciless.  In  its  ears  my  words  are  blas- 
phemies ;  I  am  outraging  all  its  codes.  Oh  !  that  I  could  wage 
war  against  this  world  and  break  down  and  refashion  its  laws 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  93 

and  traditions !  Has  it  not  turned  all  my  thoughts,  and  feel- 
ings, and  longings,  and  hopes,  and  every  fibre  in  me  into  so 
many  sources  of  pain?  Spoiled  my  future,  present  and  past? 
For  me  the  daylight  is  full  of  gloom,  my  thoughts  pierce  me 
like  a  sword,  my  child  is  and  is  not. 

"  Oh,  when  Helene  speaks  to  me,  I  wish  that  her  voice  were 
different,  when  she  looks  into  my  face  I  wish  that  she  had 
other  eyes.  She  constantly  keeps  me  in  mind  of  all  that 
should  have  been  and  is  not.  I  cannot  bear  to  have  her  near 
me.  I  smile  at  her,  I  try  to  make  up  to  her  for  the  real  affec- 
tion of  which  she  is  defrauded.  I  am  wretched,  monsieur,  too 
wretched  to  live.  And  I  am  supposed  to  be  a  pattern  wife. 
And  I  have  committed  no  sins.  And  I  am  respected  !  I 
have  fought  down  forbidden  love  which  sprang  up  unaware 
within  me ;  but  if  I  have  kept  the  letter  of  the  law,  have  I 
kept  it  in  my  heart?  There  has  never  been  but  one  here," 
she  said,  laying  her  right  hand  on  her  breast,  "  one  and  no 
other ;  and  my  child  feels  it.  Certain  looks  and  tones  and 
gestures  mould  a  child's  nature,  and  my  poor  little  one  feels 
no  thrill  in  the  arm  I  put  about  her,  no  tremor  comes  into  my 
voice,  no  softness  into  my  eyes  when  I  speak  to  her  or  take 
her  up.  She  looks  at  me,  and  I  cannot  endure  the  reproach 
in  her  eyes.  There  are  times  when  I  shudder  to  think  that 
some  day  she  may  be  my  judge  and  condemn  her  mother  un- 
heard. Heaven  grant  that  hate  may  not  grow  up  between  us ! 
Ah  !  God  in  heaven,  rather  let  the  tomb  open  for  me,  rather 
let  me  end  my  days  here  at  Saint-Lange  !  I  want  to  go  back 
to  the  world  where  I  shall  find  my  other  soul  and  become 
wholly  a  mother.  Ah  !  forgive  me,  sir,  I  am  mad.  Those 
words  were  choking  me  ;  now  they  are  spoken.  Ah  !  you  are 
weeping  too  !  You  will  not  despise  me " 

She  heard  the  child  come  in  from  a  walk.  "Helene, 
Helene,  my  child,  come  here!"  she  called.  The  words 
sounded  like  a  cry  of  despair. 

The  little  girl  ran  in,  laughing  and  calling  to  her  mother  to 


94  A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY. 

see  a  butterfly  which  she  had  caught ;  but  at  the  sight  of  that 
mother's  tears  she  grew  quiet  of  a  sudden,  and  went  up  close, 
and  received  a  kiss  on  her  forehead. 

"She  will  be  very  beautiful  some  day,"  said  the  priest. 

"She  is  her  father's  child,"  said  the  marquise,  kissing  the 
little  one  with  eager  warmth,  as  if  she  meant  to  pay  a  debt  of 
affection  or  to  extinguish  some  feeling  of  remorse. 

"  How  hot  you  are,  mamma  !  " 

"  There,  go  away,  my  angel,"  said  the  marquise. 

The  child  went.  She  did  not  seem  at  all  sorry  to  go  ;  she 
did  not  look  back ;  glad  perhaps  to  escape  from  a  sad  face, 
and  instinctively  comprehending  already  an  antagonism  of 
feeling  in  its  expression.  A  mother's  love  finds  language  in 
smiles ;  they  are  a  part  of  the  divine  right  of  motherhood. 
The  marquise  could  not  smile.  She  flushed  red  as  she  felt 
the  cure's  eyes.  She  had  hoped  to  act  a  mother's  part  before 
him,  but  neither  she  nor  her  child  could  deceive  him.  And, 
indeed,  when  a  woman  loves  sincerely,  in  the  kiss  she  gives 
there  is  a  divine  honey  ;  it  is  as  if  a  soul  were  breathed  forth 
in  the  caress,  a  subtle  flame  of  fire  which  brings  warmth  to  the 
heart ;  the  kiss  that  lacks  this  delicious  unction  is  meagre  and 
formal.  The  priest  had  felt  the  difference.  He  could  fathom 
the  depths  that  lie  between  the  motherhood  of  the  flesh  and 
the  motherhood  of  the  heart.  He  gave  the  marquise  a  keen, 
scrutinizing  glance,  then  he  said — 

"  You  are  right,  madame  ;  it  would  be  better  for  you  if  you 
were  dead " 

"Ah!"  she  cried,  "then  you  know  all  my  misery  ;  I  see 
you  do  if,  Christian  priest  as  you  are,  you  can  guess  my  de- 
termination to  die  and  sanction  it.  Yes,  I  meant  to  die,  but 
I  have  lacked  the  courage.  The  spirit  was  strong,  but  the 
flesh  was  weak,  and  when  my  hand  did  not  tremble,  the  spirit 
within  me  wavered. 

"  I  do  not  know  the  reason  of  these  inner  struggles  and 
alternations.  I  am  very  pitiably  a  woman,  no  doubt,  weak  in 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  95 

my  will,  strong  only  to  love.  Oh,  I  despise  myself.  At 
night,  when  all  my  household  was  asleep,  I  would  go  out 
bravely  as  far  as  the  lake  ;  but  when  I  stood  on  the  brink  my 
cowardice  shrank  from  self-destruction.  To  you  I  will  confess 
my  weakness.  When  I  lay  in  my  bed  again,  shame  would 
come  over  me  and  courage  would  come  back.  Once  I  took 
a  dose  of  laudanum  ;  I  was  ill,  but  I  did  not  die.  I  thought 
I  had  emptied  the  phial,  but  I  had  only  taken  half  the  dose." 

"You  are  lost,  madame,"  the  cure  said  gravely,  with  tears 
in  his  voice.  "  You  will  go  back  into  the  world,  and  you  will 
deceive  the  world.  You  will  seek  and  find  a  compensation 
(as  you  imagine  it  to  be)  for  your  woes ;  then  will  come  a  day 
of  reckoning  for  your  pleasures " 

"  Do  you  think,"  she  cried,  "  that  I  shall  bestow  the  last, 
the  most  precious  treasures  of  my  heart  upon  the  first  base  im- 
postor who  can  play  the  comedy  of  passion  ?  That  I  would 
pollute  my  life  for  a  moment  of  doubtful  pleasure?  No  ;  the 
flame  which  shall  consume  my  soul  shall  be  love,  and  nothing 
but  love.  All  men,  monsieur,  have  the  senses  of  their  sex, 
but  not  all  have  the  man's  soul  which  satisfies  all  the  require- 
ments of  our  nature,  drawing  out  the  melodious  harmony 
which  never  breaks  forth  save  in  response  to  the  pressure  of 
feeling.  Such  a  soul  is  not  found  twice  in  our  lifetime.  The 
future  that  lies  before  me  is  hideous ;  I  know  it.  A  woman  is 
nothing  without  love ;  beauty  is  nothing  without  pleasure. 
And  even  if  happiness  were  offered  to  me  a  second  time, 
would  not  the  world  frown  upon  it  ?  I  owe  my  daughter  an 
honored  mother.  Oh !  I  am  condemned  to  live  in  an  iron 
circle,  from  which  there  is  but  one  shameful  way  of  escape. 
The  round  of  family  duties,  a  thankless  and  irksome  task,  is 
in  store  for  me.  I  shall  curse  life ;  but  my  child  shall  have  at 
least  a  fair  semblance  of  a  mother.  I  will  give  her  treasures 
of  virtue  for  the  treasures  of  love  of  which  I  defraud  her. 

"  I  have  not  even  the  mother's  desire  to  live  to  enjoy  her 
child's  happiness.  I  have  no  belief  in  happiness.  What  will 


96  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

Helene's  fate  be  ?  My  own,  beyond  doubt.  How  can  a 
mother  insure  that  the  man  to  whom  she  gives  her  daughter 
will  be  the  husband  of  her  heart  ?  You  pour  scorn  on  the 
miserable  creatures  who  sell  themselves  for  a  few  coins  to  any 
passer-by,  though  want  and  hunger  absolve  the  brief  union ; 
while  another  union,  horrible  for  quite  other  reasons,  is  toler- 
ated, nay,  encouraged,  by  society,  and  a  young  and  innocent* 
girl  is  married  to  a  man  whom  she  has  only  met  occasionally 
during  the  previous  three  months.  She  is  sold  for  her  whole 
lifetime.  It  is  true  that  the  price  is  high  !  If  you  allow  her 
no  compensation  for  her  sorrows,  you  might  at  least  respect 
her;  but  no,  the  most  virtuous  of  women  cannot  escape 
calumny.  This  is  our  fate  in  its  double  aspect.  Open  pros- 
titution and  shame ;  secret  prostitution  and  unhappiness. 
As  for  the  poor,  portionless  girls,  they  may  die  or  go  mad, 
without  a  soul  to  pity  them.  Beauty  aud  virtue  are  not 
marketable  in  the  bazaar  where  souls  and  bodies  are  bought 
and  sold — in  the  den  of  selfishness  which  you  call  society. 
Why  not  disinherit  daughters?  Then,  at  least,  you  might 
fulfill  one  of  the  laws  of  nature,  and,  guided  by  your  own  in- 
clinations, choose  your  companions." 

"  Madame,  from  your  talk  it  is  clear  to  me  that  neither  the 
spirit  of  family  nor  the  sense  of  religion  appeals  to  you.  Why 
should  you  hesitate  between  the  claims  of  the  social  selfishness 
which  irritates  you  and  the  purely  personal  selfishness  which 
craves  satisfactions " 

"The  family,  monsieur — does  such  a  thing  exist?  I  de- 
cline to  recognize  as  a  family  a  knot  of  individuals  bidden  by 
society  to  divide  the  property  after  the  death  of  father  and 
mother,  and  to  go  their  separate  ways.  A  family  means  a 
temporary  association  of  persons  brought  together  by  no  will 
of  their  own,  dissolved  at  once  by  death.  Our  laws  have 
broken  up  homes  and  estates,  and  the  old  family  tradition 
handed  down  from  generation  to  generation.  I  see  nothing 
but  wreck  and  ruin  about  me." 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  97 

"  Madame,  you  will  only  return  to  God  when  His  hand 
has  been  heavy  upon  you,  and  I  pray  that  you  have  time 
enough  given  to  you  in  which  to  make  your  peace  with  Him. 
Instead  of  looking  to  heaven  for  comfort,  you  are  fixing  your 
eyes  on  earth.  Philosophism  and  personal  interest  have  in- 
vaded your  heart ;  like  the  children  of  the  skeptical  eighteenth 
century,  you  are  deaf  to  the  voice  of  religion.  The  pleasures 
of  this  life  bring  nothing  but  misery.  You  are  about  to  make 
an  exchange  of  sorrows,  that  is  all." 

She  smiled  bitterly. 

"  I  will  falsify  your  predictions,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  be 
faithful  to  him  who  died  for  me." 

"Sorrow,"  he  answered,  "  is  not  likely  to  live  long  save 
in  souls  disciplined  by  religion,"  and  he  lowered  his  eyes 
respectfully  lest  the  marquise  should  read  his  doubts  in  them. 
The  energy  of  her  outburst  had  grieved  him.  He  had  seen 
the  self  that  lurked  beneath  so  many  forms,  and  despaired  of 
softening  a  heart  which  affliction  seemed  to  sear.  The  divine 
Sower's  seed  could  not  take  root  in  such  a  soil,  and  His  gentle 
voice  was  drowned  by  the  clamorous  outcry  of  self-pity.  Yet 
the  good  man  returned  again  and  again  with  an  apostle's 
earnest  persistence,  brought  back  by  a  hope  of  leading  so 
noble  and  proud  a  soul  to  God  ;  until  the  day  when  he  made 
the  discovery  that  the  marquise  only  cared  to  talk  with  him 
because  it  was  sweet  to  speak  of  him  who  was  no  more.  He 
would  not  lower  his  ministry  by  condoning  her  passion,  and 
confined  the  conversation  more  and  more  to  generalities  and 
commonplaces. 

Spring  came,  and  with  the  spring  the  marquise  found  dis- 
traction from  her  deep  melancholy.  She  busied  herself  for 
lack  of  other  occupation  with  her  estate,  making  improve- 
ments for  amusement. 

In  October  she  left  the  old  castle.     In  the  life  of  leisure  at 
Saint-Lange  she  had  recovered  from  her  grief  and  grown  fair 
and  fresh.     Her  grief  had  been  violent  at  first  in  its  course. 
7 


98 


A    WOMAN   OF   THIRTY. 


as  the  quoit  hurled  forth  with  all  the  player's  strength,  and 
like  the  quoit  after  many  oscillations,  each  feebler  than  the 
last,  it  had  slackened  into  melancholy.  Melancholy  is  made 
up  of  a  succession  of  such  oscillations,  the  first  touching  upon 
despair,  the  last  on  the  border  between  pain  and  pleasure  ;  in 
youth,  it  is  the  twilight  of  dawn  ;  in  age,  the  dusk  of  nighL 
As  the  marquise  drove  through  the  village  in  her  traveling 
carnage,  she  met  the  priest  on  his  way  back  from  the  church. 
She  bowed  in  response  to  his  farewell  greeting,  but  it  was 
with  lowered  eyes  and  averted  face.  She  did  not  wish  to  see 
him  again.  The  village  rector  had  judged  this  poor  Dianq 
of  Ephesus  only  too  well. 


III. 

AT   THIRTY   YEARS. 

Madame  Firmiani  was  giving  a  ball.  M.  Charles  de  Vande- 
nesse,  a  young  man  of  great  promise,  the  bearer  of  one  of 
those  historic  names  which,  in  spite  of  the  efforts  of  legislation, 
are  always  associated  with  the  glory  of  France,  had  received 
letters  of  introduction  to  some  of  the  great  lady's  friends  in 
Naples,  and  had  come  to  thank  the  hostess  and  to  take  his 
leave. 

Vandenesse  had  already  acquitted  himself  creditably  on 
several  diplomatic  missions ;  and  now  that  he  had  received  an 
appointment  as  attache  to  a  plenipotentiary  at  the  Congress 
of  Laybach,  he  wished  to  take  advantage  of  the  opportunity 
to  make  some  study  of  Italy  on  the  way.  This  ball  was  a  sort 
of  farewell  to  Paris  and  its  amusements  and  its  rapid  whirl 
of  life,  to  the  great  eddying  intellectual  centre  and  mael- 
strom of  pleasure  ;  and  a  pleasant  thing  it  is  to  be  borne  along 
by  the  current  of  this  sufficiently  slandered  great  city  of  Paris. 
Yet  Charles  de  Vandenesse  had  little  to  regret,  accustomed 
as  he  had  been  for  the  past  three  years  to  salute  European 
capitals  and  turn  his  back  upon  them  at  the  capricious  bidding 
of  a  diplomatist's  destiny.  Women  no  longer  made  any 
impression  upon  him ;  perhaps  he  thought  that  a  real  passion 
would  play  too  large  a  part  in  a  diplomatist's  life ;  or  perhaps 
that  the  paltry  amusements  of  frivolity  were  too  empty  for  a 
man  of  strong  character.  We  all  of  us  have  huge  claims  to 
strength  of  character.  There  is  no  man  in  France,  be  he 
never  so  ordinary  a  member  of  the  rank  and  file  of  humanity, 
that  will  waive  pretensions  to  something  beyond  mere  clever- 
ness. 

Charles,  young  though  he  was — he  was  scarcely  turned 

(99) 


100  A    WOMAN  OF   7HIRTY. 

thirty — looked  at  life  with  a  philosophic  mind,  concerning 
himself  with  theories  and  means  and  ends,  while  other  men  of 
his  age  were  thinking  of  pleasure,  sentiments,  and  the  like  illu- 
sions. He  forced  back  into  some  inner  depth  the  generosity 
and  enthusiasms  of  youth,  and  by  nature  he  was  generous.  He 
tried  hard  to  be  cool  and  calculating,  to  coin  the  fund  of 
wealth  which  chanced  to  be  in  his  nature  into  gracious 
manners,  and  courtesy,  and  attractive  arts;  'tis  the  proper 
task  of  an  ambitious  man  to  play  a  sorry  part  to  gain  "  a  good 
position,"  as  we  call  it  in  modern  days. 

He  had  been  dancing,  and  now  he  gave  a  farewell  glance 
over  the  rooms,  to  carry  away  a  distinct  impression  of  the 
ball,  moved,  doubtless,  to  some  extent  by  the  feeling  which 
prompts  a  theatre-goer  to  stay  in  his  box  to  see  the  final 
tableau  before  the  curtain  falls.  But  M.  de  Vandenesse  had 
another  reason  for  his  survey.  He  gazed  curiously  at  the 
scene  before  him,  so  French  in  character  and  in  movement, 
seeking  to  carry  away  a  picture  of  the  light  and  laughter  and 
the  faces  at  this  Parisian  fete,  to  compare  with  novel  faces  and 
picturesque  surroundings  awaiting  him  at  Naples,  where  he 
meant  to  spend  a  few  days  before  presenting  himself  at  his 
post.  He  seemed  to  be  drawing  the  comparsion  now  between 
this  France  so  variable,  changing  even  as  you  study  her,  with 
the  manners  and  aspects  of  that  other  land  known  to  him  as 
yet  only  by  contradictory  hearsay  tales  or  books  of  travel,  for 
the  most  part  unsatisfactory.  Thoughts  of  a  somewhat  poetical 
cast,  albeit  hackneyed  and  trite  to  our  modern  ideas,  crossed 
his  brain,  in  response  to  some  longing  of  which,  perhaps,  he 
himself  was  hardly  conscious,  a  desire  in  the  depths  of  a 
heart  fastidious  rather  than  jaded,  vacant  rather  than  seared. 

"  These  are  the  wealthiest  and  most  fashionable  women  and 
the  greatest  ladies  in  Paris,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  These  are 
the  great  men  of  the  day,  great  orators  and  men  of  letters, 
great  names  and  titles ;  artists  and  men  in  power ;  and  yet  in 
it  all  it  seems  to  me  as  if  there  were  nothing  but  petty  in- 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  101 

trigues  and  still-born  loves,  meaningless  smiles  and  causeless 
scorn,  eyes  lighted  by  no  flame  within,  brain-power  in  abun- 
dance running  aimlessly  to  waste.  All  those  pink-and-white 
faces  are  here  not  so  much  for  enjoyment,  as  to  escape  from 
dullness.  None  of  the  emotion  is  genuine.  If  you  ask  for 
nothing  but  court  feathers  properly  adjusted,  fresh  gauzes  and 
pretty  toilets  and  fragile,  fair  women,  if  you  desire  simply  to 
skim  the  surface  of  life,  here  is  your  world  for  you.  Be  con- 
tent with  meaningless  phrases  and  fascinating  simpers,  and  do 
not  ask  for  real  feeling.  For  my  own  part,  I  abhor  the  stale 
intrigues  which  end  in  sub-prefectures  and  receiver-generals' 
places  and  marriages ;  or,  if  love  comes  into  the  question,  in 
stealthy  compromises,  so  ashamed  are  we  of  the  mere  sem- 
blance of  passion.  Not  a  single  one  of  all  these  eloquent 
faces  tells  you  of  a  soul,  a  soul  wholly  absorbed  by  one  idea 
as  by  remorse.  Regrets  and  misfortune  go  about  shame- 
facedly clad  in  jests.  There  is  not  one  woman  here  whose 
resistance  I  should  care  to  overcome,  not  one  who  could  drag 
you  down  to  the  pit.  Where  will  you  find  energy  in  Paris  ?  A 
poniard  here  is  a  curious  toy  to  hang  from  a  gilt  nail,  in  a  pic- 
turesque sheath  to  match.  The  women,  the  brains,  and  hearts 
of  Paris  are  all  on  a  par.  There  is  no  passion  left,  because  we 
have  no  individuality.  High  birth  and  intellect  and  fortune 
are  all  reduced  to  one  level ;  we  have  all  taken  to  the  uniform 
black  coat  by  way  of  mourning  for  a  dead  France.  There  is 
no  love  between  equals.  Between  two  lovers  there  should  be 
differences  to  efface,  wide  gulfs  to  fill.  The  charm  of  love  fled 
from  us  in  1789.  Our  dullness  and  our  humdrum  lives  are  the 
outcome  of  the  political  system.  Italy,  at  any  rate,  is  the 
land  of  sharp  contrasts.  Woman  there  is  a  malevolent 
animal,  a  dangerous  unreasoning  siren,  guided  only  by  her 
tastes  and  appetites,  a  creature  no  more  to  be  trusted  than  a 

tiger " 

Mme.  Firmiani   here  came  up  to  interrupt  this  soliloquy 
made   up  of  vague,    conflicting,   and   fragmentary   thoughts 


102  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

which  cannot  be  reproduced  in  words.  The  whole  charm  of 
such  musing  lies  in  its  vagueness — what  is  it  but  a  sort  of 
mental  haze? 

"  I  want  to  introduce  you  to  some  one  who  has  the  greatest 
wish  to  make  your  acquaintance,  after  all  that  she  has  heard 
of  you,"  said  the  lady,  taking  his  arm. 

She  brought  him  into  the  next  room,  and,  with  such  a  smile 
and  glance  as  a  Parisienne  alone  can  give,  she  indicated  a 
woman  sitting  by  the  hearth. 

"Who  is  she?  "  the  Comte  de  Vandenesse  asked  quickly. 

"  You  have  heard  her  name  more  than  once  coupled  with 
praise  or  blame.  She  is  a  woman  who  lives  in  seclusion — a 
perfect  mystery." 

"  Oh  !  if  ever  you  have  been  merciful  in  your  life,  for  pity's 
sake,  tell  me  her  name." 

"She  is  the  Marquise  d'Aiglemont." 

"I  will  take  lessons  from  her;  she  has  managed  to  make  a 
peer  of  France  of  that  eminently  ordinary  person  her  husband, 
and  a  dullard  into  a  power  in  the  land.  But,  pray  tell  me  this, 
did  Lord  Grenville  die  for  her  sake,  do  you  think,  as  some 
women  say?  " 

"Possibly.  Since  that  adventure,  real  or  imaginary,  she  is 
very  much  changed,  poor  thing  !  She  has  not  gone  into  so- 
ciety since.  Four  years  of  constancy — that  is  something  in 

Paris.  If  she  is  here  to-night "  Here  Mme.  Firmiani 

broke  off,  adding  with  a  mysterious  expression,  "  I  am  forget- 
ting that  I  must  say  nothing.  Go  and  talk  with  her." 

For  a  moment  Charles  stood  motionless,  leaning  lightly 
against  the  frame  of  the  doorway,  wholly  absorbed  in  his 
scrutiny  of  a  woman  who  had  become  famous  no  one  knew 
exactly  how  or  why.  Such  curious  anomalies  are  frequent 
enough  in  the  world.  Mme.  d'Aiglemont's  reputation  was 
certainly  no  more  extraordinary  than  plenty  of  other  great  rep- 
utations. There  are  men  who  are  always  in  travail  of  some 
great  work  which  never  sees  the  light,  statisticians  held  to  be 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  103 

profound  on  the  score  of  calculations  which  they  take  very 
good  care  not  to  publish,  politicians  who  live  on  a  newspaper 
article,  men  of  letters  and  artists  whose  performances  are  never 
given  to  the  world,  men  of  science  who  pass  current  among 
those  who  know  nothing  of  science,  much  as  Sganarelle  is  a 
Latinist  for  those  who  know  no  Latin ;  there  are  the  men  who 
are  allowed  by  general  consent  to  possess  a  peculiar  capacity 
for  some  one  thing,  be  it  for  the  direction  of  arts,  or  for  the 
conduct  of  an  important  mission.  The  admirable  phrase,  "A 
man  with  a  special  subject,"  might  have  been  invented  on 
purpose  for  these  acephalous  species  in  the  domain  of  literature 
and  politics. 

Charles  gazed  longer  than  he  intended.  He  was  vexed 
with  himself  for  feeling  so  strongly  interested ;  it  is  true,  how- 
ever, that  the  lady's  appearance  was  a  refutation  of  the  young 
man's  ballroom  generalizations. 

The  marquise  had  reached  her  thirtieth  year.  She  was 
beautiful  in  spite  of  her  fragile  form  and  extremely  delicate 
look.  Her  greatest  charm  lay  in  her  still  face,  revealing  un- 
fathomed  depths  of  soul.  Some  haunting,  ever-present  thought 
veiled,  as  it  were,  the  full  brilliance  of  eyes  which  told"  of  a 
fevered  life  and  boundless  resignation.  So  seldom  did  she 
raise  the  eyelids  soberly  downcast,  and  so  listless  were  her 
glances,  that  it  almost  seemed  as  if  the  fire  in  her  eyes  were 
reserved  for  some  occult  contemplation.  Any  man  of  genius 
and  feeling  must  have  felt  strangely  attracted  by  her  gentle- 
ness and  silence.  If  the  mind  sought  to  explain  the  myste- 
rious problem  of  a  constant  inward  turning  from  the  present 
to  the  past,  the  soul  was  no  less  interested  in  initiating  itself 
into  the  secrets  of  a  heart  proud  in  some  sort  of  its  anguish. 
Everything  about  her,  moreover,  was  in  keeping  with  these 
thoughts  which  she  inspired.  Like  almost  all  women  who 
have  very  long  hair,  she  was  very  pale  and  perfectly  white. 
The  marvelous  fineness  of  her  skin  (that  almost  unerring  sign) 
indicated  a  quick  sensibility  which  could  be  seen  yet  more 


104  A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY. 

unmistakably  in  her  features ;  there  was  the  same  minute  and 
wonderful  delicacy  of  finish  in  them  that  the  Chinese  artist 
gives  to  his  fantastic  figures.  Perhaps  her  neck  was  rather 
too  long,  but  such  necks  belong  to  the  most  graceful  type,  and 
suggest  vague  affinities  between  a  woman's  head  and  the  mag- 
netic curves  of  the  serpent.  Leave  not  a  single  one  of  the 
thousand  signs  and  tokens  by  which  the  most  inscrutable  char- 
acter betrays  itself  to  an  observer  of  human  nature,  he  has  but 
to  watch  carefully  the  little  movements  of  a  woman's  head, 
the  ever-varying  expressive  turns  and  curves  of  her  neck  and 
throat,  to  read  her  nature. 

Mme.  d'Aiglemont's  dress  harmonized  with  the  haunting 
thought  that  informed  the  whole  woman.  Her  hair  was 
gathered  up  into  a  tall  coronet  of  broad  plaits,  without  orna- 
ment of  any  kind  ;  she  seemed  to  have  bidden  farewell  foi 
ever  to  elaborate  toilettes.  Nor  were  any  of  the  small  arts  of 
coquetry  which  spoil  so  many  women  to  be  detected  in  her. 
Perhaps  her  bodice,  modest  though  it  was,  did  not  altogethei 
conceal  the  dainty  grace  of  her  figure ;  perhaps,  too,  her  gown 
looked  rich  from  the  extreme  distinction  of  its  fashion  ;  and 
if  it  is  permissible  to  look  for  expression  in  the  arrangement 
of  stuffs,  surely  those  numerous  straight  folds  invested  her  with 
a  great  dignity.  There  may  have  been  some  lingering  trace 
of  the  indelible  feminine  foible  in  the  minute  care  bestowed 
upon  her  hand  and  foot ;  yet,  if  she  allowed  them  to  be  seen 
with  some  pleasure,  it  would  have  tasked  the  utmost  malice  of 
a  rival  to  discover  any  affectation  in  her  gestures,  so  natural 
did  they  seem,  s6  much  a  part  of  old  childish  habit,  that  her 
careless  grace  absolved  this  vestige  of  vanity. 

All  these  little  characteristics,  the  nameless  trifles  which 
combine  to  make  up  the  sum  of  a  woman's  prettiness  or  ugli- 
ness, her  charm  or  lack  of  charm,  can  only  be  indicated, 
when,  as  with  Mine.  d'Aiglemont,  a  personality  dominates 
and  gives  coherence  to  the  details,  informing  them,  blending 
them  all  in  an  exquisite  whole.  Her  manner  was  perfectly  in 


A    WOMAN   OF   THIRTY.  105 

accord  with  her  style  of  beauty  and  her  dress.  Only  to 
certain  women  at  a  certain  age  is  it  given  to  put  language 
into  their  attitude.  Is  it  joy  or  is  it  sorrow  that  teaches  a 
woman  of  thirty  the  secret  of  that  eloquence  of  carriage,  so 
that  she  must  always  remain  an  enigma  which  each  interprets 
by  the  aid  of  his  hopes,  desires,  or  theories  ? 

The  way  in  which  the  marquise  leaned  both  elbows  on  the 
arm  of  her  chair,  the  toying  of  her  interclasped  fingers, 
the  curve  of  her  throat,  the  indolent  lines  of  her  languid  but 
lissome  body  as  she  lay  back  in  graceful  exhaustion,  as  it 
were ;  her  indolent  limbs,  her  unstudied  pose,  the  utter  lassi- 
tude of  her  movements,  all  suggested  that  this  was  a  woman 
for  whom  life  had  lost  its  interest,  a  woman  who  had  known 
the  joys  of  love  only  in  dreams,  a  woman  bowed  down  by  the 
burden  of  memories  of  the  past,  a  woman  who  had  long  since 
despaired  of  the  future  and  despaired  of  herself,  an  unoccupied 
woman  who  took  the  emptiness  of  her  own  life  for  the  nothing- 
ness of  life. 

Charles  de  Vandenesse  saw  and  admired  the  beautiful  pic- 
ture before  him,  as  a  kind  of  artistic  success  beyond  an  ordi- 
nary woman's  powers  of  attainment.  He  was  acquainted  with 
d'Aiglemont ;  and  now,  at  the  first  sight  of  d'Aiglemont's 
wife,  the  young  diplomatist  saw  at  a  glance  a  disproportionate 
marriage,  an  incompatibility  (to  use  the  legal  jargon)  so  great 
that  it  was  impossible  that  the  marquise  should  love  her  hus- 
band. And  yet — the  Marquise  d'Aiglemont's  life  was  above 
reproach,  and  for  any  observer  the  mystery  about  her  was  the 
more  interesting  on  this  account.  The  first  impulse  of  sur- 
prise over,  Vandenesse  cast  about  for  the  best  way  of  approach- 
ing Mme.  d'Aiglemont.  He  would  try  a  commonplace  piece 
of  diplomacy,  he  thought ;  he  would  disconcert  her  by  a 
piece  of  clumsiness  and  see  how  she  would  receive  it. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  seating  himself  near  her,  "  through  a 
fortunate  indiscretion  I  have  learned  that,  for  some  reason 
unknown  to  me,  I  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  attract  your 


106  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

notice.  I  owe  you  the  more  thanks  because  I  have  never 
been  so  honored  before.  At  the  same  time,  you  are  respon- 
sible for  one  of  my  faults,  for  I  mean  never  to  be  modest 
again " 

"You  will  make  a  mistake,  monsieur,"  she  laughed; 
"  vanity  should  be  left  to  those  who  have  nothing  else  to 
recommend  them." 

The  conversation  thus  opened  ranged  at  large,  in  the  usual 
way,  over  a  multitude  of  topics — art  and  literature,  politics, 
men  and  things — till  insensibly  they  fell  to  talking  of  the 
eternal  theme  in  France  and  all  the  world  over — love,  senti- 
ment, and  women. 

"  We  are  bond-slaves." 

"You  are  queens." 

This  was  the  gist  and  substance  of  all  the  more  or  less 
ingenuous  discourse  between  Charles  and  the  marquise,  as  of 
all  such  discourses — past,  present,  and  to  come.  Allow  a 
certain  space  of  time,  and  the  two  formulas  shall  begin  to 
mean  "  Love  me,"  and  "  I  will  love  you." 

"Madame,"  Charles  de  Vandenesse  exclaimed  under  his 
breath,  "  you  have  made  me  bitterly  regret  that  I  am  leaving 
Paris.  In  Italy  I  certainly  shall  not  pass  hours  in  intellectual 
enjoyment  such  as  this  has  been." 

"  Perhaps,  monsieur,  you  will  find  happiness,  and  happiness 
is  worth  more  than  all  the  brilliant  things,  true  and  false,  that 
are  said  every  evening  in  Paris." 

Before  Charles  took  leave,  he  asked  permission  to  pay  a 
farewell  call  on  the  Marquise  d'Aiglemont,  and  very  lucky  did 
he  feel  himself  when  the  form  of  words  in  which  he  expressed 
himself  for  once  was  used  in  all  sincerity ;  and  that  night,  and 
all  day  long  on  the  morrow,  he  could  not  put  the  thought  of 
the  marquise  out  of  his  mind. 

At  times  he  wondered  why  she  had  singled  him  out,  what 
she  had  meant  when  she  asked  him  to  come  to  see  her,  and 
thought  supplied  an  inexhaustible  commentary.  Again  it 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  107 

seemed  to  him  that  he  had  discovered  the  motives  of  her  curi- 
osity, and  he  grew  intoxicated  with  hope  or  frigidly  sober 
with  each  new  construction  put  upon  that  piece  of  common- 
place civility.  Sometimes  it  meant  everything,  sometimes 
nothing.  He  made  up  his  mind  at  last  that  he  would  not 
yield  to  this  inclination,  and — went  to  call  on  Mme.  d'  Aigle- 
mont. 

There  are  thoughts  which  determine  our  conduct,  while  \vc 
do  not  so  much  as  suspect  their  existence.  If  at  first  sight 
this  assertion  appears  to  be  less  a  truth  than  a  paradox,  let 
any  candid  inquirer  look  into  his  own  life  and  he  shall  find 
abundant  confirmation  therein.  Charles  went  to  Mme. 
d'Aiglemont,  and  so  obeyed  one  of  these  latent,  preexistent 
germs  of  thought,  of  which  our  experience  and  our  intel- 
lectual gains  and  achievements  are  but  later  and  tangible  de- 
velopments. 

For  a  young  man  a  woman  of  thirty  has  irresistible  attrac- 
tions. There  is  nothing  more  natural,  nothing  better  estab- 
lished, no  human  tie  of  stouter  tissue  than  the  heart-deep  at- 
tachment between  such  a  woman  as  the  Marquise  d'Aiglemont 
and  such  a  man  as  Charles  de  Vandenesse.  You  can  see  ex- 
amples of  it  every  day  in  the  world.  A  girl,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  has  too  many  young  illusions,  she  is  too  inexperienced, 
the  instinct  of  sex  counts  for  too  much  in  her  love  fora  young 
man  to  feel  flattered  by  it.  A  woman  of  thirty  knows  all  that 
is  involved  in  the  self-surrender  to  be  made.  Among  the  im- 
pulses of  the  first,  put  curiosity  and  other  motives  than  love ; 
the  second  acts  with  integrity  of  sentiment.  The  first  yields  ; 
the  second  makes  deliberate  choice.  Is  not  that  choice  in 
itself  an  immense  flattery  ?  A  woman  armed  with  experience, 
forewarned  by  knowledge,  almost  always  dearly  bought,  seems 
to  give  more  than  herself;  while  the  inexperienced  and  cred- 
ulous girl,  unable  to  draw  comparisons  for  lack  of  knowledge, 
can  appreciate  nothing  at  its  just  worth.  She  accepts  love  and 
ponders  it.  A  woman  is  a  counselor  and  a  guide  at  an  age 


108  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

when  we  love  to  be  guided  and  obedience  is  delight ;  while  a 
girl  would  fain  learn  all  things,  meeting  us  with  a  girl's 
naivete  instead  of  a  woman's  tenderness.  She  affords  a  single 
triumph  :  with  a  woman  there  is  resistance  upon  resistance  to 
overcome ;  she  has  but  joy  and  tears,  a  woman  has  rapture 
and  remorse. 

A  girl  cannot  play  the  part  of  a  mistress  unless  she  is  so 
corrupt  that  we  turn  from  her  with  loathing ;  a  woman  has  a 
thousand  ways  of  preserving  her  power  and  her  dignity  ; 
she  has  risked  so  much  for  love  that  she  must  bid  him  pass 
through  his  myriad  transformations,  while  her  too  submissive 
rival  gives  a  sense  of  too  serene  security  which  palls.  If  the 
one  sacrifices  her  maidenly  pride,  the  other  immolates  the 
honor  of  a  whole  family.  A  girl's  coquetry  is  of  the  simplest, 
she  thinks  that  all  is  said  when  the  veil  is  laid  aside;  a 
woman's  coquetry  is  endless,  she  shrouds  herself  in  veil  after 
veil,  she  satisfies  every  demand  of  man's  vanity,  the  novice 
responds  but  to  one. 

And  there  are  terrors,  fears,  and  hesitations — trouble  and 
storm  in  the  love  of  a  woman  of  thirty  years,  never  to  be 
found  in  a  young  girl's  love.  At  thirty  years  a  woman  asks 
her  lover  to  give  her  back  the  esteem  she  has  forfeited  for  his 
sake ;  she  lives  only  for  him,  her  thoughts  are  full  of  his  future, 
he  must  have  a  great  career,  she  bids  him  make  it  glorious ;  she 
can  obey,  entreat,  command,  humble  herself,  or  rise  in  pride ; 
times  without  number  she  brings  comfort  when  a  young  girl 
can  only  make  moan.  And  with  all  the  advantages  of  her 
position,  the  woman  of  thirty  can  be  a  girl  again,  for  she  can 
play  all  parts,  assume  a  girl's  bashfulness,  and  grow  the  fairer 
even  for  a  mischance. 

Between  these  two  feminine  types  lies  the  immeasurable 
difference  which  separates  the  foreseen  from  the  unforeseen, 
strength  from  weakness.  The  woman  of  thirty  satisfies  every 
requirement ;  the  young  girl  must  satisfy  none,  under  penalty 
of  ceasing  to  be  a  young  girl.  Such  ideas  as  these,  developing 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  109 

in  a  young  man's  mind,  help  to  strengthen  the  strongest  of 
all  passions,  a  passion  in  which  all  spontaneous  and  natural 
feeling  is  blended  with  the  artificial  sentiment  created  by 
conventional  manners. 

The  most  important  and  decisive  step  in  a  woman's  life  is 
the  very  one  that  she  invariably  regards  as  the  most  insignifi- 
cant. After  her  marriage  she  is  no  longer  her  own  mistress, 
she  is  the  queen  and  the  bond-slave  of  the  domestic  hearth. 
The  sanctity  of  womanhood  is  incompatible  with  social  liberty 
and  social  claims;  and  for  a  woman  emancipation  means  cor- 
ruption. If  you  give  a  stranger  the  right  of  entry  into  the 
sanctuary  of  home,  do  you  not  put  yourself  at  his  mercy? 
How  then  if  she  herself  bids  him  enter?  Is  not  this  an 
offense,  or,  to  speak  more  accurately,  a  first  step  toward  an 
offense?  You  must  either  accept  this  theory  with  all  its  con- 
sequences, or  absolve  illicit  passion.  French  society  hitherto 
has  chosen  the  third  and  middle  course  of  looking  on  and 
laughing  when  offenses  come,  apparently  upon  the  Spartan 
principle  of  condoning  the  theft  and  punishing  clumsiness. 
And  this  system,  it  may  be,  is  a  very  wise  one.  'Tis  a  most 
appalling  punishment  to  have  all  your  neighbors  pointing  the 
finger  of  scorn  at  you,  a  punishment  that  a  woman  feels  in  her 
very  heart.  Women  are  tenacious,  and  all  of  them  should  be 
tenacious  of  respect ;  without  esteem  they  cannot  exist,  esteem 
is  the  first  demand  that  they  make  of  love.  The  most  corrupt 
among  them  feels  that  she  must,  in  the  first  place,  pledge  the 
future  to  buy  absolution  for  the  past,  and  strives  to  make  her 
lover  understand  that  only  for  irresistible  bliss  can  she  barter 
the  respect  which  the  world  will  henceforth  absolutely  refuse 
to  her. 

Some  such  reflections  cross  the  mind  of  any  woman  who  for 
the  first  time  and  alone  receives  a  visit  from  a  young  man ; 
and  this  especially  when,  like  Charles  de  Vandenesse,  the 
visitor  is  handsome  or  clever.  And  similarly  there  are  not 
many  young  men  who  would  fail  to  base  some  secret  wish  on 


110  A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY. 

one  of  the  thousand  and  one  ideas  which  justify  the  instinct 
that  attracts  them  to  a  beautiful,  witty,  and  unhappy  woman 
like  the  Marquise  d'Aiglemont. 

Mme.  d'Aiglemont,  therefore,  felt  troubled  when  M.  de 
Vandenesse  was  announced ;  and,  as  for  him,  he  was  almost 
confused  in  spite  of  the  assurance  which  is  like  a  matter  of 
costume  for  a  diplomatist.  But  not  for  long.  The  marquise 
took  refuge  at  once  in  the  friendliness  of  manner  which  women 
use  as  a  defense  against  the  misinterpretations  of  fatuity,  a 
manner  which  admits  of  no  afterthought,  while  it  paves  the 
way  to  sentiment  (to  make  use  of  a  figure  of  speech),  temper- 
ing the  transition  through  the  ordinary  forms  of  politeness. 
In  this  ambiguous  position,  where  the  four  roads  leading  re- 
spectively to  Indifference,  Respect,  Wonder,  and  Passion 
meet,  a  woman  may  stay  as  long  as  she  pleases,  but  only  at 
thirty  years  does  she  understand  all  the  possibilities  of  the 
situation.  Laughter,  tenderness,  and  jest  are  all  permitted  to 
her  at  the  crossing  of  the  ways ;  she  has  acquired  the  tact  by 
which  she  finds  all  the  responsive  chords  in  a  man's  nature, 
and  skill  in  judging  the  sounds  which  she  draws  forth.  Her 
silence  is  as  dangerous  as  her  speech.  You  will  never  read 
her  at  that  age,  nor  discover  if  she  is  frank  or  false,  nor  how 
far  she  is  serious  in  her  admissions  or  merely  laughing  at  you. 
She  gives  you  the  right  to  engage  in  a  game  of  fence  with  her, 
and  suddenly  by  a  glance,  a  gesture  of  proved  potency,  she 
closes  the  combat  and  turns  from  you  with  your  secret  in  her 
keeping,  free  to  offer  you  up  to  a  jest,  free  to  interest  herself 
in  you,  safe  alike  in  her  weakness  and  your  strength. 

Although  the  Marquise  d'Aiglemont  took  up  her  position 
upon  this  neutral  ground  during  the  first  interview,  she  knew 
how  to  preserve  a  high  womanly  dignity.  The  sorrows  of 
which  she  never  spoke  seemed  to  hang  over  her  assumed 
gayety  like  a  light  cloud  obscuring  the  sun.  When  Vande- 
nesse went  out,  after  a  conversation  which  he  had  enjoyed 
more  than  he  had  thought  possible,  he  carried  with  him  the 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  Ill 

conviction  that  this  was  like  to  be  too  costly  a  conquest  for 
his  aspirations. 

"It  would  mean  sentiment  from  here  to  yonder,"  he 
thought,  "and  correspondence  enough  to  wear  out  a  deputy 
second-clerk  on  his  promotion.  And  yet  if  I  really  cared " 

Luckless  phrase  that  has  been  the  ruin  of  many  an  infatu- 
ated mortal.  In  France  the  way  to  love  lies  through  self-love. 
Charles  went  back  to  Mme.  d'Aiglemont,  and  imagined  that 
she  showed  symptoms  of  pleasure  in  his  conversation.  And 
then,  instead  of  giving  himself  up  like  a  boy  to  the  joy  of 
falling  in  love,  he  tried  to  play  a  double  role.  He  did  his 
best  to  act  passion  and  to  keep  cool  enough  to  analyze  the 
progress  of  this  flirtation,  to  be  lover  and  diplomatist  at  once  ; 
but  youth  and  hot  blood  and  analysis  could  only  end  in  one 
way,  over  head  and  ears  in  love ;  for,  natural  or  artificial,  the 
marquise  was  more  than  his  match.  Each  time  as  he  went 
out  from  Mme.  d'Aiglemont,  he  strenuously  held  himself  to 
his  distrust,  and  submitted  the  progressive  situations  of  his 
case  to  a  rigorous  scrutiny  fatal  to  his  own  emotions. 

"  To-day  she  gave  me  to  understand  that  she  has  been  very 
unhappy  and  lonely,"  said  he  to  himself,  after  the  third  visit, 
"and  that  but  for  her  little  girl  she  would  have  longed  for 
death.  She  was  perfectly  resigned.  Now  as  I  am  neither 
her  brother  nor  her  spiritual  director,  why  should  she  confide 
her  troubles  to  me?  She  loves  me." 

Two  days  later  he  came  away  apostrophizing  modern  man- 
ners. 

"  Love  takes  on  the  hue  of  every  age.  In  1822  love  is  a 
doctrinaire.  Instead  of  proving  love  by  deeds,  as  in  times 
past,  we  have  taken  to  argument  and  rhetoric  and  debate. 
Women's  tactics  are  reduced  to  three  shifts.  In  the  first 
place,  they  declare  that  we  cannot  love  as  they  love.  (Co- 
quetry !  the  marquise  simply  threw  it  at  me,  like  a  challenge, 
this  evening!)  Next  they  grow  pathetic,  to  appeal  to  our 
natural  generosity  or  self-love  ;  for  does  it  not  flatter  a  young 


112  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

man's  vanity  to  console  a  woman  for  a  great  calamity.  And, 
lastly,  they  have  a  craze  for  virginity.  She  must  have  thought 
that  I  thought  her  very  innocent.  My  good  faith  is  like  to 
become  an  excellent  speculation." 

But  a  day  came  when  every  suspicious  idea  was  exhausted. 
He  asked  himself  whether  the  marquise  was  not  sincere ; 
whether  so  much  suffering  could  be  feigned,  and  why  she 
should  act  the  part  of  resignation  ?  She  lived  in  complete 
seclusion  ;  she  drank  in  silence  of  a  cup  of  sorrow  scarcely 
to  be  guessed  unless  from  the  accent  of  some  chance  exclama- 
tion in  a  \  oice  always  well  under  control.  From  that  moment 
Charles  felt  a  keen  interest  in  Mme.  d'Aiglemont.  And  yet, 
though  his  visits  had  come  to  be  a  recognized  thing,  and  in 
some  sort  a  necessity  to  them  both,  and  though  the  hour  was 
kept  free  by  tacit  agreement,  Vandenesse  still  thought  that 
this  woman  with  whom  he  was  in  love  was  more  clever  than 
sincere.  "  Decidedly,  she  is  an  uncommonly  clever  woman," 
he  used  to  say  to  himself  as  he  went  away. 

When  he  came  into  the  room,  there  was  the  marquise  in 
her  favorite  attitude,  melancholy  expressed  in  her  whole  form. 
She  made  no  movement  when  he  entered,  only  raised  her 
eyes  and  looked  full  at  him,  but  the  glance  that  she  gave  him 
was  like  a  smile.  Mme.  d'Aiglemont's  manner  meant  con- 
fidence and  sincere  friendship,  but  of  love  there  was  no  trace. 
Charles  sat  down  and  found  nothing  to  say.  A  sensation  for 
which  no  language  exists  troubled  him. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  she  asked  in  a  softened 
voice. 

"  Nothing.  Yes ;  I  am  thinking  of  something  of  which,  as 
yet,  you  have  not  thought  at  all." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Why — the  Congress  is  over." 

"Well,"  she  said,  "and  ought  you  to  have  been  at  the 
Congress?" 

A  direct  answer  would  have  been  the  most  eloquent  and 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  113 

delicate  declaration  of  love ;  but  Charles  did  not  make  it. 
Before  the  candid  friendship  in  Mme.  d'Aiglemont's  face  all 
the  calculations  of  vanity,  the  hopes  of  love,  and  the  diplo- 
matist's doubts  died  away.  She  did  not  suspect,  or  she 
seemed  not  to  suspect,  his  love  for  her ;  and  Charles,  in  utter 
confusion  turning  upon  himself,  was  forced  to  admit  that  he 
had  said  and  done  nothing  which  could  warrant  such  a  belief 
on  her  part.  For  M.  de  Vandenesse  that  evening,  the  mar- 
quise was,  as  she  had  always  been,  simple  and  friendly,  sincere 
in  her  sorrow,  glad  to  have  a  friend,  proud  to  find  a  nature 
responsive  to  her  own — nothing  more.  It  had  not  entered 
her  mind  that  a  woman  could  yield  twice  ;  she  had  known 
love — love  still  lay  bleeding  in  the  depths  of  her  heart,  but 
she  did  not  imagine  that  bliss  could  bring  her  its  rapture 
twice,  for  she  believed  not  merely  in  the  intellect,  but  in  the 
soul ;  and  for  her  love  was  no  simple  attraction  ;  it  drew  her 
with  all  noble  attractions. 

In  a  moment  Charles  became  a  young  man  again,  enthralled 
by  the  splendor  of  a  nature  so  lofty.  He  wished  for  a  fuller 
initiation  into  the  secret  history  of  a  life  blighted  rather  by 
fate  than  by  her  own  fault.  Mme.  d'Aiglemont  heard  him 
ask  the  cause  of  the  overwhelming  sorrow  which  had  blended 
all  the  harmonies  of  sadness  with  her  beauty ;  she  gave  him 
one  glance,  but  that  searching  look  was  like  a  seal  set  upon 
some  solemn  compact. 

"Ask  no  more  such  questions  of  me,"  she  said.  "Four 
years  ago,  on  this  very  day,  the  man  who  loved  me,  for  whom 
I  would  have  given  up  everything,  even  my  own  self-respect, 
died,  and  died  to  save  my  name.  That  love  was  still  young 
and  pure  and  full  of  illusions  when  it  came  to  an  end.  Before  I 
gave  way  to  passion — and  never  was  woman  so  urged  by  fate — 
I  had  been  drawn  into  the  mistake  that  ruins  many  a  girl's  life, 
a  marriage  with  a  man  whose  agreeable  manners  concealed  his 
emptiness.  Marriage  plucked  my  hopes  away  one  by  one. 
And  now,  to-day,  I  have  forfeited  happiness  through  marriage, 
8 


114  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

as  well  as  the  happiness  styled  criminal,  and  I  have  known  no 
happiness.  Nothing  is  left  to  me.  If  I  could  not  die.  at  the 
least  I  ought  to  be  faithful  to  my  memories." 

No  tears  came  with  the  words.  Her  eyes  fell,  and  there 
was  a  slight  twisting  of  the  fingers  interclasped,  according  to 
her  wont.  It  was  simply  said,  but  in  her  voice  there  was  a 
note  of  despair,  deep  as  her  love  seemed  to  have  been,  which 
left  Charles  without  a  hope.  The  dreadful  story  of  a  life  told 
in  three  sentences,  with  that  twisting  of  the  fingers  for  all 
comment,  the  might  of  anguish  in  a  fragile  woman,  the  dark 
depths  masked  by  a  fair  face,  the  tears  of  four  years  of  mourn- 
ing, fascinated  Vandenesse ;  he  sat  silent  and  diminished  in 
the  presence  of  her  woman's  greatness  and  nobleness,  seeing 
not  the  physical  beauty  so  exquisite,  so  perfectly  complete, 
but  the  soul  so  great  in  its  power  to  feel.  He  had  found,  at 
last,  the  ideal  of  his  fantastic  imaginings,  the  ideal  so  vigor- 
ously invoked  by  all  who  look  on  life  as  the  raw  material  of  a 
passion  for  which  many  a  one  seeks  ardently,  and  dies  before 
he  has  grasped  the  whole  of  the  dreamed-of  treasure. 

With  those  words  of  hers  in  his  ears,  in  the  presence  of  her 
sublime  beauty,  his  own  thoughts  seemed  poor  and  narrow. 
Powerless  as  he  felt  himself  to  find  words  of  his  own,  simple 
enough  and  lofty  enough  to  scale  the  heights  of  this  exaltation, 
he  took  refuge  in  platitudes  as  to  the  destiny  of  women. 

"  Madame,  we  must  either  forget  our  pain  or  hollow  out  a 
tomb  for  ourselves." 

But  reason  always  cuts  a  poor  figure  beside  sentiment ;  the 
one  being  essentially  restricted,  like  everything  that  is  positive, 
while  the  other  is  infinite.  To  set  to  work  to  reason  where 
you  are  required  to  feel  is  the  mark  of  a  limited  nature. 
Vandenesse  therefore  held  his  peace,  sat  awhile  with  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  her,  then  went  away.  A  prey  to  novel  thoughts 
which  exalted  woman  for  him,  he  was  in  something  the  same 
position  as  a  painter  who  has  taken  the  vulgar  studio  model 
for  a  type  of  womanhood,  and  suddenly  confronts  the 


A    WOMAN   OF   TffIJtTY.  115 

Mnemosyne  of  the  Museum — that  noblest  and  least  appre- 
ciated of  antique  statues. 

Charles  de  Vandenesse  was  deeply  in  love.  He  loved  Mme. 
d'Aiglemont  with  the  loyalty  of  youth,  with  the  fervor  that 
communicates  such  ineffable  charm  to  a  first  passion,  with  a 
simplicity  of  heart  of  which  a  man  only  recovers  some  frag- 
ments when  he  loves  again  at  a  later  day.  Delicious  first 
passion  of  youth,  almost  always  deliciously  savored  by  the 
woman  who  calls  it  forth ;  for  at  the  golden  prime  of  thirty, 
from  the  poetic  summit  of  a  woman's  life,  she  can  look  out 
over  the  whole  course  of  love — backward  into  the  past,  for- 
ward into  the  future — and,  knowing  all  the  price  to  be  paid 
for  love,  enjoys  her  bliss  with  the  dread  of  losing  it  ever 
present  with  her.  Her  soul  is  still  fair  with  her  waning  youth, 
and  passion  daily  gathers  strength  from  the  dismaying  pros- 
pect of  the  coming  days. 

"This  is  love,"  Vandenesse  said  to  himself  this  time  as  he 
left  the  marquise,  "and  for  my  misfortune  I  love  a  woman 
wedded  to  her  memories.  It  is  hard  work  to  struggle  against 
a  dead  rival,  never  present  to  make  blunders  and  fall  out  of 
favor,  nothing  of  him  left  but  his  better  qualities.  What  is  it 
but  a  sort  of  high  treason  against  the  Ideal  to  attempt  to  break 
the  charm  of  memory,  to  destroy  the  hopes  that  survive  a  lost 
lover,  precisely  because  he  only  awakened  longings,  and  all 
that  is  loveliest  and  most  enchanting  in  love?" 

These  sober  reflections,  due  to  the  discouragement  and 
dread  of  failure  with  which  love  begins  in  earnest,  were  the 
last  expiring  effort  of  diplomatic  reasoning.  Thenceforward 
he  knew  no  afterthoughts,  he  was  the  plaything  of  his  love, 
and  lost  himself  in  the  nothings  of  that  strange  inexplicable 
happiness  which  is  full  fed  by  a  chance  word,  by  silence,  or  a 
vague  hope.  He  tried  to  love  Platonically,  came  daily  to 
breathe  the  air  that  she  breathed,  became  almost  a  part  of  her 
house,  and  went  everywhere  with  her,  slave  as  he  was  of  a 
tyrannous  passion  compounded  of  egoism  and  devotion  of 


116  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

the  completest.  Love  has  its  own  instinct,  finding  the  way  to 
the  heart,  as  the  feeblest  insect  finds  the  way  to  its  flower, 
with  a  will  which  nothing  can  dismay  nor  turn  aside.  If  feel- 
ing is  sincere,  its  destiny  is  not  doubtful.  Let  a  woman  begin 
to  think  that  her  life  depends  on  the  sincerity  or  fervor  or 
earnestness  which  her  lover  shall  put  into  his  longings,  and  is 
there  not  sufficient  in  the  thought  to  put  her  through  all  the 
tortures  of  dread  ?  It  is  impossible  for  a  woman,  be  she  wife  or 
mother,  to  be  secure  from  a  young  man's  love.  One  thing  it 
is  within  her  power  to  do — to  refuse  to  see  him  as  soon  as  she 
learns  a  secret  which  she  never  fails  to  guess.  But  this  is  too 
decided  a  step  to  take  at  an  age  when  marriage  has  become  a 
prosaic  and  tiresome  yoke,  and  conjugal  affection  is  some- 
thing less  than  tepid  (if  indeed  her  husband  has  not  already 
begun  to  neglect  her).  Is  a  woman  plain  ?  She  is  flattered 
by  a  love  which  gives  her  fairness.  Is  she  young  and  charm- 
ing ?  She  is  only  to  be  won  by  a  fascination  as  great  as  her 
own  power  to  charm ;  that  is  to  say,  a  fascination  well-nigh 
irresistible.  Is  she  virtuous  ?  There  is  a  love  sublime  in  its 
earthliness  which  leads  her  to  find  something  like  absolution 
in  the  very  greatness  of  the  surrender  and  glory  in  a  hard 
struggle.  Everything  is  a  snare.  No  lesson,  therefore,  is  too 
severe  where  the  temptation  is  so  strong.  The  seclusion  in 
which  the  Greeks  and  Orientals  kept  and  keep  their  women, 
an  example  more  and  more  followed  in  modern  England,  is 
the  only  safeguard  of  domestic  morality ;  but  under  this 
system  there  is  an  end  of  all  the  charm  of  social  intercourse ; 
and  society,  and  good  breeding,  and  refinement  of  manners 
become  impossible.  The  nations  must  take  their  choice. 

So  a  few  months  went  by,  and  Mme.  d'Aiglemont  discov- 
ered that  her  life  was  closely  bound  with  this  young  man's 
life,  without  overmuch  confusion  in  her  surprise,  and  felt  with 
something  almost  like  pleasure  that  she  shared  his  tastes  and 
his  thoughts.  Had  she  adopted  Van denesse's  ideas?  Or  was 
it  Vandenesse  who  had  made  her  lightest  whims  his  own  ? 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  117 

She  was  not  careful  to  inquire.  She  had  been  swept  out 
already  into  the  current  of  passion,  and  yet  this  adorable 
woman  told  herself,  with  the  confident  reiteration  of  mis- 
giving— 

"Ah  !  no.  I  will  be  faithful  to  him  who  died  for  me." 
Pascal  said  that  "  the  doubt  of  God  implies  belief  in  God." 
And  similarly  it  may  be  said  that  a  woman  only  parleys  when 
she  has  surrendered.  A  day  came  when  the  marquise  ad- 
mitted to  herself  that  she  was  loved,  and  with  that  admission 
came  a  time  of  wavering  among  countless  conflicting  thoughts 
and  feelings.  The  superstitions  of  experience  spoke  their 
language.  Should  she  be  happy  ?  Was  it  possible  that  she 
should  find  happiness  outside  the  limits  of  the  laws  which 
society  rightly  or  wrongly  has  set  up  for  humanity  to  live  by? 
Hitherto  her  cup  of  life  had  been  full  of  bitterness.  Was  there 
any  happy  issue  possible  for  the  ties  which  united  two  human 
beings  held  apart  by  social  conventions?  And  might  not 
happiness  be  bought  too  dear  ?  Still,  this  so  ardently  desired 
happiness,  for  which  it  is  so  natural  to  seek,  might  perhaps  be 
found  after  all.  Curiosity  is  always  retained  on  the  lover's 
side  in  the  suit.  The  secret  tribunal  was  still  sitting  when 
Vandenesse  appeared,  and  his  presence  put  the  metaphysical 
spectre,  reason,  to  flight. 

If  such  are  the  successive  transformations  through  which  a 
sentiment,  transient  though  it  be,  passes  in  a  young  man  and 
a  woman  of  thirty,  there  comes  a  moment  of  time  when  the 
shades  of  difference  blend  into  each  other,  when  all  reasonings 
end  in  a  single  and  final  reflection  which  is  lost  and  absorbed 
in  the  desire  which  it  confirms.  Then  the  longer  the  resist- 
ance, the  mightier  the  voice  of  love.  And  here  endeth  this 
lesson,  or  rather  this  study  made  from  the  ecorche,  to  borrow 
a  most  graphic  term  from  the  studio,  for  in  this  history  it 
is  not  so  much  intended  to  portray  love  as  to  lay  bare  its 
mechanism  and  its  dangers.  From  this  moment  every  day 
adds  color  to  these  dry  bones,  clothes  them  again  with  living 


118  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

flesh  and  blood  and  the  charm  of  youth,  and  puts  vitality  into 
their  movements ;  till  they  glow  once  more  with  the  beauty, 
the  persuasive  grace  of  sentiment,  the  loveliness  of  life. 

Charles  found  Mme.  d'Aiglemont  absorbed  in  thought,  and 
to  his  :  "  What  is  it  ?  "  spoken  in  thrilling  tones  grown  persua- 
sive with  the  heart's  soft  magic,  she  was  careful  not  to  reply. 
The  delicious  question  bore  witness  to  the  perfect  unity  of 
their  spirits;  and  the  marquise  felt,  with  a  woman's  wonder- 
ful intuition,  that  to  give  any  expression  to  the  sorrow  in  her 
heart  would  be  to  make  an  advance.  If,  even  now,  each  one 
of  those  words  was  fraught  with  significance  for  them  both, 
in  what  fathomless  depths  might  she  not  plunge  at  the  first 
step  ?  She  read  herself  with  a  clear  and  lucid  glance.  She 
was  silent,  and  Vandenesse  followed  her  example. 

"  I  am  not  feeling  well,"  she  said  at  last,  taking  alarm  at  the 
pause  fraught  with  such  great  moment  for  them  both,  when  the 
language  of  the  eyes  completely  filled  the  blank  left  by  the 
helplessness  of  speech. 

"  Madame,"  said  Charles,  and  his  voice  was  tender  but  un- 
steady with  strong  feeling,  "soul  and  body  are  both  depen- 
dent on  each  other.  If  you  were  happy,  you  would  be  young 
and  fresh.  Why  do  you  refuse  to  ask  of  love  all  that  love  has 
taken  from  you?  You  think  that  your  life  is  over  when  it  is 
only  just  beginning.  Trust  yourself  to  a  friend's  care.  It  is 
so  sweet  to  be  loved." 

"I  am  old  already,"  she  said;  "  there  is  no  reason  why  I 
should  not  continue  to  suffer  as  in  the  past.  And  '  one  must 
love,'  do  you  say?  Well,  I  must  not,  and  I  cannot.  Your 
friendship  has  put  some  sweetness  into  my  life,  but  beside  you 
I  care  for  no  one,  no  one  could  efface  my  memories.  A  friend 
I  accept ;  I  should  fly  from  a  lover.  Beside,  would  it  be  a 
very  generous  thing  to  do,  to  exchange  a  withered  heart  for 
a  young  heart ;  to  smile  upon  illusions  which  now  I  cannot 
share,  to  cause  happiness  in  which  I  should  either  have  no 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  119 

belief,  or  tremble  to  lose  ?  I  should  perhaps  respond  to  his 
devotion  with  egoism,  should  weigh  and  deliberate  while  he 
felt ;  my  memory  would  resent  the  poignancy  of  his  happi- 
ness. No,  if  you  love  once,  that  love  is  never  replaced,  you 
see.  Indeed,  who  would  have  my  heart  at  this  price?" 

There  was  a  tinge  of  heartless  coquetry  in  the  words,  the 
last  effort  of  discretion. 

"  If  he  loses  courage,  well  and  good,  I  shall  live  alone  and 
faithful."  The  thought  came  from  the  very  depths  of  the 
woman,  for  her  it  was  the  too  slender  willow  twig  caught  in 
vain  by  a  swimmer  swept  out  by  the  current. 

Vandenesse's  involuntary  shudder  at  her  dictum  pled  more 
eloquently  for  him  than  all  his  past  assiduity.  Nothing  moves 
a  woman  so  much  as  the  discovery  of  a  gracious  delicacy  in 
us,  such  a  refinement  of  sentiment  as  her  own,  for  a  woman 
the  grace  and  delicacy  are  sure  tokens  of  truth.  Charles' 
start  revealed  the  sincerity  of  his  love.  Mme.  d'Aiglemont 
learned  the  strength  of  his  affection  from  the  intensity  of  his 
pain. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  he  said  coldly.  "  New  love,  new 
vexation  of  spirit." 

Then  he  changed  t-he  subject,  and  spoke  of  indifferent  mat- 
ters ;  but  he  was  visibly  moved,  and  he  concentrated  his  gaze 
on  Mme.  d'Aiglemont  as  if  he  were  seeing  her  for  the  last 
time. 

"Adieu,  madame,"  he  said,  with  emotion  in  his  voice. 

"Au  revoir"  said  she,  with  that  subtle  coquetry,  the  secret 
of  a  very  few  among  women. 

He  made  no  answer  and  went. 

When  Charles  was  no  longer  there,  when  his  empty  chair 
spoke  for  him,  regrets  flocked  in  upon  her,  and  she  found 
fault  with  herself.  Passion  makes  an  immense  advance  as  soon 
as  a  woman  persuades  herself  that  she  has  failed  somewhat  in 
generosity  or  hurt  a  noble  nature.  In  love  there  is  never  any 
need  to  be  on  our  guard  against  the  worst  in  us;  that  is  a 


120  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

safeguard ;  a  woman  only  surrenders  at  the  summons  of  a 
virtue.  "  The  floor  of  hell  is  paved  with  good  intentions,"  it 
is  no  preacher's  paradox. 

Vandenesse  stopped  away  for  several  days.  Every  evening 
at  the  accustomed  hour  the  marquise  sat  expectant  in  remorseful 
impatience.  She  could  not  write — that  would  be  a  declara- 
tion, and,  moreover,  her  instinct  told  her  that  he  would  come 
back.  On  the  sixth  day  he  was  announced,  and  never  had 
she  heard  the  name  with  such  delight.  Her  joy  frightened 
her. 

"You  have  punished  me  well,"  she  said,  addressing  him. 

Vandenesse  gazed  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"  Punished  !"  he  echoed.  "  And  for  what  ?  "  He  under- 
stood her  quite  well,  but  he  meant  to  be  avenged  for  all  that 
he  had  suffered  as  soon  as  she  suspected  it. 

"Why  have  you  not  come  to  see  me?"  she  demanded 
with  a  smile. 

"Then  have  you  seen  no  visitors?"  asked  he,  parrying 
the  question. 

"  Yes.  Messieurs  de  Ronquerolles  and  de  Marsay  and 
young  d'Escrignon  came  and  stayed  for  nearly  two  hours, 
the  first  two  yesterday,  the  last  this  morning.  And,  beside,  I 
have  had  a  call,  I  believe,  from  Madame  Firmiani  and  from 
your  sister,  Madame  de  Listomere." 

Here  was  a  new  infliction,  torture  which  none  can  com- 
prehend unless  they  know  love  as  a  fierce  and  all-invading 
tyrant  whose  mildest  symptom  is  a  monstrous  jealousy,  a  per- 
petual desire  to  snatch  away  the  beloved  from  every  other  in- 
fluence. 

"What!"  thought  he  to  himself,  "she  has  seen  visitors, 
she  has  been  with  happy  creatures,  and  talking  to  them,  while 
I  was  unhappy  and  all  alone  !  " 

He  buried  his  annoyance  forthwith,  and  consigned  love  to 
the  depths  of  his  heart,  like  a  coffin  to  the  sea.  His  thoughts 
were  of  the  kind  that  never  find  expression  in  words ;  they 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  121 

pass  through  the  mind  swiftly  as  a  deadly  acid,  that  poisons 
as  it  evaporates  and  vanishes.  His  brow,  however,  was  over- 
clouded;  and  Mme.  d'Aiglemont,  guided  by  her  woman's 
instinct,  shared  his  sadness  without  understanding  it.  She 
had  hurt  him,  unwittingly,  as  Vandenesse  knew.  He  talked 
over  his  position  with  her,  as  if  his  jealousy  were  one  of 
those  hypothetical  cases  which  lovers  love  to  discuss.  Then 
the  marquise  understood  it  all.  She  was  so  deeply  moved 
that  she  could  not  keep  back  the  tears — and  so  these  lovers 
entered  the  heaven  of  love. 

Heaven  and  hell  are  two  great  imaginative  conceptions 
formulating  our  ideas  of  joy  and  sorrow — those  two  poles 
about  which  human  existence  revolves.  Is  not  heaven  a 
figure  of  speech  covering  now  and  for  evermore  an  infinity  of 
human  feeling  impossible  to  express  save  in  its  accidents — 
since  that  joy  is  one  ?  And  what  is  hell  but  the  symbol  of 
our  infinite  power  to  suffer  tortures  so  diverse  that  of  our  pain 
it  is  possible  to  fashion  works  of  art,  for  no  two  human  sor- 
rows are  alike  ? 

One  evening  the  two  lovers  sat  alone  and  side  by  side, 
silently  watching  one  of  the  fairest  transformations  of  the  sky, 
a  cloudless  heaven  taking  hues  of  pale  gold  and  purple  from 
the  last  rays  of  the  sunset.  With  the  slow  fading  of  the  day- 
light, sweet  thoughts  seem  to  awaken,  and  soft  stirrings  of 
passion  and  a  mysterious  sense  of  trouble  in  the  midst  of  calm. 
Nature  sets  before  us  vague  images  of  bliss,  bidding  us  enjoy 
the  happiness  within  our  reach,  or  lament  it  when  it  has  fled. 
In  those  moments  fraught  with  enchantment,  when  the  tender 
light  in  the  canopy  of  the  sky  blends  in  harmony  with  the 
spells  working  within,  it  is  difficult  to  resist  the  heart's  desires 
grown  so  magically  potent.  Cares  are  blunted  ;  joy  becomes 
ecstasy;  pain,  intolerable  anguish.  The  pomp  of  sunset  gives 
the  signal  for  confessions  and  draws  them  forth.  Silence 
grows  more  dangerous  than  speech,  for  it  gives  to  eyes  all  the 
power  of  the  infinite  of  the  heavens  reflected  in  them.  And 


122  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

for  speech,  the  least  word  has  irresistible  might.  Is  not  the 
light  infused  into  the  voice  and  purple  into  the  glances?  Is 
not  heaven  within  us,  or  do  we  feel  that  we  are  in  the 
heavens  ? 

Vandenesse  and  Julie — for  so  she  had  allowed  herself  to  be 
called  for  the  past  few  days  by  him  whom  she  loved  to  speak 
of  as  Charles — Vandenesse  and  Julie  were  talking  together, 
but  they  had  drifted  very  far  from  their  original  subject ;  and 
if  their  spoken  words  had  grown  meaningless,  they  listened  in 
delight  to  the  unspoken  thoughts  that  lurked  in  the  sounds. 
Her  hand  lay  in  his.  She  had  abandoned  it  to  him  without 
a  thought  that  she  had  granted  a  proof  of  love. 

Together  they  leaned  forward  to  look  out  upon  a  majestic 
cloud  country,  full  of  snows  and  glaciers  and  fantastic  moun- 
tain peaks  with  gray  stains  of  shadow  on  their  sides,  a  picture 
composed  of  sharp  contrasts  between  fiery  red  and  the  shadows 
of  darkness,  filling  the  skies  with  a  fleeting  vision  of  glory 
which  cannot  be  reproduced — magnificent  swaddling-bands 
of  sunrise,  bright  shrouds  of  the  dying  sun.  As  they  leant, 
Julie's  hair  brushed  lightly  against  Vandenesse's  cheek.  She 
felt  that  light  contact,  and  shuddered  violently,  and  he  even 
more,  for  imperceptibly  they  both  had  reached  one  of  those  in- 
explicable crises  when  quiet  has  wrought  upon  the  senses  until 
every  faculty  of  perception  is  so  keen  that  the  slightest  shock 
fills  the  heart  lost  in  melancholy  with  sadness  that  overflows  in 
tears ;  or  raises  joy  to  ecstasy  in  a  heart  that  is  lost  in  the  ver- 
tigo of  love.  Almost  involuntarily  Julie  pressed  her  lover's 
hand.  That  wooing  pressure  gave  courage  to  his  timidity. 
All  the  joy  of  the  present,  all  the  hopes  of  the  future  were 
blended  in  the  emotion  of  a  first  caress,  the  bashful  trembling 
kiss  that  Mme.  d'Aiglemont  received  upon  her  cheek.  The 
slighter  the  concession,  the  more  dangerous  and  insinuating  it 
was.  For  their  double  misfortune  it  was  only  too  sincere  a 
revelation.  Two  noble  natures  had  met  and  blended,*  drawn 

*  M«ler6. 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  123 

each  to  each  by  every  law  of  natural  attraction,  held  apart  by 
every  ordinance. 

General  d'Aiglemont  came  in  at  that  very  moment. 

"The  Ministry  has  gone  out,"  he  said.  "  Your  uncle  will 
be  in  the  new  cabinet.  So  you  stand  an  uncommonly  good 
chance  of  an  embassy,  Vandenesse." 

Charles  and  Julie  looked  at  each  other  and  flushed  red. 
That  blush  was  one  more  tie  to  unite  them  ;  there  was  one 
thought  and  one  remorse  in  either  mind  ;  between  two  lovers 
guilty  of  a  kiss  there  is  a  bond  quite  as  strong  and  terrible 
as  the  bond  between  two  robbers  who  have  murdered  a  man. 
Something  had  to  be  said  by  way  of  reply. 

"I  do  not  care  to  leave  Paris  now,"  Charles  said. 

"  We  know  why,"  said  the  general,  with  the  knowing  air  of 
a  man  who  discovers  a  secret.  "  You  do  not  like  to  leave 
your  uncle,  because  you  do  not  wish  to  lose  your  chance  of 
succeeding  to  the  title." 

The  marquise  took  refuge  in  her  room,  and  in  her  mind 
passed  a  pitiless  verdict  upon  her  husband. 

"  His  stupidity  is  really  beyond  anything  !  " 


IV. 


THE   FINGER   OF  GOD. 

Between  the  Barriere  d1  Italic  and  the  Barriere  de  la  Bante", 
along  the  boulevard  which  leads  to  the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  you 
have  a  view  of  Paris  fit  to  send  an  artist  or  the  tourist,  the 
most  blast  in  matters  of  landscape,  into  ecstasies.  Reach  the 
slightly  higher  ground  where  the  line  of  boulevard,  shaded  by 
tall,  thick-spreading  trees,  curves  with  the  grace  of  some  green 
and  silent  forest  avenue,  and  you  see  spread  out  at  your  feet  a 
deep  valley  populous  with  factories  looking  almost  countrified 
among  green  trees  and  the  brown  streams  of  the  Bievre  or  the 
Gobelins. 

On  the  opposite  slope,  beneath  some  thousands  of  roofs 
packed  close  together  like  heads  in  a  crowd,  lurks  the  squalor 
of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Marceau.  The  imposing  cupola  of  the 
Pantheon  and  the  grim  melancholy  dome  of  the  Val-du- 
Grace  tower  proudly  up  above  a  whole  town  in  itself,  built 
amphitheatre-wise;  every  tier  being  grotesquely  represented 
by  a  crooked  line  of  street,  so  that  the  two  public  monuments 
look  like  a  huge  pair  of  giants  dwarfing  into  insignificance  the 
poor  little  houses  and  the  tallest  poplars  in  the  valley.  To 
your  left  behold  the  observatory,  the  daylight,  pouring  athwart 
its  windows  and  galleries,  producing  such  fantastical,  strange 
effects  that  the  building  looks  like  a  black  spectral  skeleton. 
Farther  yet  in  the  distance  rises  the  elegant  lantern  tower  of 
the  Invalides,  soaring  up  between  the  bluish  pile  of  the  Lux- 
embourg and  the  gray  towers  of  Saint-Sulpice.  From  this 
standpoint  the  lines  of  the  architecture  are  blended  with  green 
leaves  and  gray  shadows,  and  change  every  moment  with  every 
aspect  of  the  heavens,  every  alteration  of  light  or  color  in  the 
sky.  Afar,  the  skyey  spaces  themselves  seem  to  be  full  of 
(124) 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  125 

buildings;  near,  wind  the  serpentine  curves  of  waving  trees 
and  green  footpaths. 

Away  to  your  right,  through  a  great  gap  in  this  singular 
landscape,  you  see  the  canal  Saint-Martin,  a  long  pale  stripe 
with  its  edging  of  reddish  stone  quays  and  fringes  of  lime 
avenues.  The  long  rows  of  buildings  beside  it,  in  genuine 
Roman  style,  are  the  public  granaries. 

Beyond,  again,  on  the  very  last  plane  of  all,  see  the  smoke- 
dimmed  slopes  of  Belleville,  covered  with  houses  and  wind- 
mills, which  blend  their  freaks  of  outline  with  the  chance 
effects  of  clouds.  And  still,  between  that  horizon,  vague  as 
some  childish  recollection,  and  the  serried  range  of  roofs  in 
the  valley,  a  whole  city  lies  out  of  sight :  a  huge  city,  ingulfed, 
as  it  were,  in  a  vast  hollow  between  the  pinnacles  of  the 
Hopital  de  la  Pitie  and  the  ridge  line  of  the  Cimetiere  de 
1'Est,  between  suffering  on  the  one  hand  and  death  on  the 
other;  a  city  sending  up  a  smothered  roar  like  ocean  grum- 
bling at  the  foot  of  a  cliff,  as  if  to  let  you  know  that  "  I  am 
here !  " 

When  the  sunlight  pours  like  a  flood  over  this  strip  of  Paris, 
purifying  and  etherealizing  the  outlines,  kindling  answering 
lights  here  and  there  in  the  window-panes,  brightening  the  red 
tiles,  flaming  about  the  golden  crosses,  whitening  walls  and 
transforming  the  atmosphere  into  a  gauzy  veil,  calling  up  rich 
contrasts  of  light  and  fantastic  shadow ;  when  the  sky  is  blue 
and  earth  quivers  in  the  heat,  and  the  bells  are  pealing,  then 
you  shall  see  one  of  the  eloquent  fairy  scenes  which  stamp 
themselves  forever  on  the  imagination,  a  scene  that  shall  find 
as  fanatical  worshipers  as  the  wondrous  views  of  Naples  and 
Byzantium  or  the  isles  of  Florida.  Nothing  is  wanting  to 
complete  the  harmony,  the  murmur  of  the  world  of  men  and 
the  idyllic  quiet  of  solitude,  the  voices  of  a  million  human 
creatures  and  the  voice  of  God.  There  lies  a  whole  capital 
beneath  the  peaceful  cypresses  of  Pere-Lachaise  cemetery. 

The  landscape  lay  in  all  its  beauty,  sparkling  in  the  spring 


126  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

sunlight,  as  I  stood  looking  out  over  it  one  morning,  my  back 
against  a  huge  elm-tree  that  flung  its  yellow  flowers  to  the 
wind.  And,  at  the  sight  of  the  rich  and  glorious  view  before 
me,  I  thought  bitterly  of  the  scorn  with  which  even  in  our 
literature  we  affect  to  hold  this  land  of  ours,  and  poured  male- 
dictions on  the  pitiable  plutocrats  who  fall  out  of  love  with  fair 
France,  and  spend  their  gold  to  acquire  the  right  of  sneering 
at  their  own  country,  by  going  through  Italy  at  a  gallop  and 
inspecting  that  desecrated  land  through  an  opera-glass.  I 
cast  loving  eyes  on  modern  Paris ;  I  was  beginning  to  dream 
dreams,  when  the  sound  of  a  kiss  disturbed  the  solitude  and 
put  philosophy  to  flight.  Down  the  sidewalk,  along  the  steep 
bank,  above  the  rippling  water,  I  saw  beyond  the  Pont  des 
Gobelins  the  figure  of  a  woman,  dressed  with  the  daintiest 
simplicity ;  she  was  still  young,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  and  the 
blithe  gladness  of  the  landscape  was  reflected  in  her  sweet 
face.  Her  companion,  a  handsome  young  man,  had  just  set 
down  a  little  boy.  A  prettier  child  has  never  been  seen,  and 
to  this  day  I  do  not  know  whether  it  was  the  little  one  or  his 
mother  who  received  the  kiss.  In  their  young  faces,  in  their 
eyes,  their  smile,  their  every  movement,  you  could  read  the 
same  deep  and  tender  thought.  Their  arms  were  interlaced 
with  such  glad  swiftness ;  they  drew  close  together  with  such 
marvelous  unanimity  of  impulse  that,  conscious  of  nothing  but 
themselves,  they  did  not  so  much  as  see  me.  A  second  child, 
however — a  little  girl,  who  had  turned  her  back  upon  them  in 
sullen  discontent — threw  me  a  glance,  and  the  expression  of 
her  eyes  startled  me.  She  was  as  pretty  and  as  engaging  as 
the  little  brother  whom  she  left  to  run  about  by  himself,  some- 
times before,  sometimes  after  their  mother  and  her  companion  ; 
but  her  charm  was  less  childless,  and  now,  as  she  stood  mute 
and  motionless,  her  attitude  and  demeanor  suggested  a  torpid 
snake.  There  was  something  indescribably  mechanical  in  the 
way  in  which  the  pretty  woman  and  her  companion  paced  up 
and  down.  In  absence  of  mind,  probably,  they  were  content 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  127 

to  walk  to  and  fro  between  the  little  bridge  and  a  carriage 
that  stood  waiting  near  by  at  a  corner  in  the  boulevard,  turn- 
ing, stopping  short  now  and  again,  looking  into  each  other's 
eyes,  or  breaking  into  laughter  as  their  casual  talk  grew  lively 
or  languid,  grave  or  gay. 

I  watched  this  delicious  picture  a  while  from  my  hiding- 
place  by  the  great  elm-tree,  and  should  have  turned  away  no 
doubt  and  respected  their  privacy,  if  it  had  not  been  for  a 
chance  discovery.  In  the  face  of  the  brooding,  silent,  elder 
child  I  saw  traces  of  thought  over-deep  for  her  age.  When 
her  mother  and  the  young  man  at  her  side  turned  and  came 
near,  her  head  was  frequently  lowered ;  the  furtive  sidelong 
glances  of  intelligence  that  she  gave  the  pair  and  the  child 
her  brother  were  nothing  less  than  extraordinary.  Sometimes 
the  pretty  woman  or  her  friend  would  stroke  the  little  boy's 
fair  curls,  or  lay  a  caressing  finger  against  the  baby  throat  or 
the  white  collar  as  he  played  at  keeping  step  with  them  ;  and 
no  words  can  describe  the  shrewd  subtlety,  the  ingenuous 
malice,  the  fierce  intensity  which  lighted  up  that  pallid  little 
face  with  the  faint  circles  already  round  the  eyes.  Truly 
there  was  a  man's  power  of  passion  in  that  strange-looking, 
delicate  little  girl.  Here  were  traces  of  suffering  or  of 
thought  in  her ;  and  which  is  the  more  certain  token  of  death 
when  life  is  in  blossom — physical  suffering,  or  the  malady  of 
too  early  thought  preying  upon  a  soul  as  yet  in  bud  ?  Perhaps 
a  mother  knows  For  my  own  part,  I  know  of  nothing  more 
dreadful  to  see  than  an  old  man's  thoughts  on  a  child's  fore- 
head ;  even  blasphemy  from  girlish  lips  is  less  monstrous. 

The  almost  stupid  stolidity  of  this  child  who  had  begun  to 
think  already,  her  rare  gestures,  everything  about  her,  inter- 
ested me.  I  scrutinized  her  curiously.  Then  the  common 
whim  of  the  observer  drew  me  to  compare  her  with  her 
brother,  and  to  note  their  likeness  and  unlikeness. 

Her  brown  hair  and  dark  eyes  and  look  of  precocious 
power  made  a  rich  contrast  with  the  little  one's  fair  curled 


128  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

head  and  sea-green  eyes  and  winning  helplessness.  She,  per- 
haps, was  seven  or  eight  years  of  age ;  the  boy  was  full  four 
years  younger.  Both  children  were  dressed  alike ;  but  here 
again,  looking  closely,  I  noticed  a  difference.  It  was  very 
slight,  a  little  thing  enough ;  but  in  the  light  of  after-events 
I  saw  that  it  meant  a  whole  romance  in  the  past,  a  whole 
tragedy  to  come.  The  little  brown-haired  maid  wore  a  linen 
collar  with  a  plain  hem,  her  brother's  was  edged  with  dainty 
embroidery,  that  was  all ;  but  therein  lay  the  confession  of  a 
heart's  secret,  a  tacit  preference  which  a  child  can  read  in 
the  mother's  inmost  soul  as  clearly  as  if  the  spirit  of  God  re- 
vealed it.  The  fair-haired  child,  careless  and  glad,  looked 
almost  like  a  girl,  his  skin  was  so  fair  and  fresh,  his  move- 
ments so  graceful,  his  look  so  sweet ;  while  his  older  sister,  in 
spite  of  her  energy,  in  spite  of  the  beauty  of  her  features  and 
her  dazzling  complexion,  looked  like  a  sickly  little  boy.  In 
her  bright  eyes  there  was  none  of  the  humid  softness  which 
lends  such  charm  to  children's  faces;  they  seemed,  like 
courtiers'  eyes,  to  be  dried  by  some  inner  fire;  and  in  her 
pallor  there  was  a  certain  swarthy  olive  tint,  the  sign  of  vigor- 
ous character.  Twice  her  little  brother  came  to  her,  holding 
out  a  tiny  hunting-horn  with  a  touching  charm,  a  winning 
look,  and  wistful  expression,  which  would  have  sent  Charlet 
into  ecstasies,  but  she  only  scowled  in  answer  to  his  "  Here, 
Helene,  will  you  take  it?  "  so  persuasively  spoken.  The  little 
girl,  so  sombre  and  vehement  beneath  her  apparent  indiffer- 
ence, shuddered  and  even  flushed  red  when  her  brother  came 
near  her ;  but  the  little  one  seemed  not  to  notice  his  sister's 
dark  mood,  and  his  unconsciousness,  blended  with  earnest- 
ness, marked  a  final  difference  in  character  between  the  child 
and  the  little  girl,  whose  brow  was  overclouded  already  by 
the  gloom  of  a  man's  knowledge  and  cares. 

"  Mamma,  Helene  will  not  play,"  cried  the  little  one,  seiz- 
ing an  opportunity  to  complain  while  the  two  stood  silent  on 
the  Pont  des  Gobelins. 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  129 

"Let  her  alone,  Charles;  you  know  very  well  that  she  is 
always  cross." 

Tears  sprang  to  Helene's  eyes  at  the  words  so  thoughtlessly 
uttered  by  her  mother  as  she  turned  abruptly  to  the  young 
man  by  her  side.  The  child  devoured  the  speech  in  silence, 
but  she  gave  her  brother  one  of  those  sagacious  looks  that 
seemed  inexplicable  to  me,  glancing  with  a  sinister  expression 
from  the  bank  where  he  stood  to  the  Bievre,*  then  at  the  bridge 
and  the  view,  and  then  at  me. 

I  was  afraid  lest  my  presence  should  disturb  the  happy 
couple ;  I  slipped  away  and  took  refuge  behind  a  thicket  of 
alder  trees,  which  completely  screened  me  from  all  eyes. 
Sitting  quietly  on  the  summit  of  the  bank,  I  watched  the  ever- 
changing  landscape  and  the  fierce-looking  little  girl,  for  with 
my  head  almost  on  a  level  with  the  boulevard  I  could  still  see 
her  through  the  leaves.  Helene.  seemed  uneasy  over  my  dis- 
appearance, her  dark  eyes  looked  for  me  down  the  alley  and 
behind  the  trees  with  indefinable  curiosity.  What  was  I  to 
her?  Then  Charles'  baby  laughter  rang  out  like  a  bird's  song 
in  the  silence.  The  tall,  young  man,  with  the  same  fair  hair, 
was  dancing  him  in  his  arms,  showering  kisses  upon  him,  and 
the  meaningless  baby  words  of  that  "little  language"  which 
rises  to  our  lips  when  we  play  with  children.  The  mother 
looked  on  smiling,  now  and  then,  doubtless,  putting  in  some 
low  word  that  came  up  from  the  heart,  for  her  companion 
would  stop  short  in  his  full  happiness,  and  the  blue  eyes  that 
turned  toward  her  were  full  of  glowing  light  and  love  and 
worship.  Their  voices,  blending  with  the  child's  voice, 
reached  me  with  a  vague  sense  of  a  caress.  The  three  figures, 
charming  in  themselves,  composed  a  lovely  scene  in  a  glorious 
landscape,  filling  it  with  a  pervasive  unimaginable  grace.  A 
delicately  fair  woman,  radiant  with  smiles,  a  child  of  love,  a 
young  man  with  the  irresistible  charm  of  youth,  a  cloudless 
sky ;  nothing  was  wanting  in  nature  to  complete  a  perfect  har- 

*  This  river  was  noted  for  its  beavers,  hence  the  name. 
9 


130  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

mony  for  the  delight  of  the  soul.  I  found  myself  smiling  as 
if  their  happiness  had  been  my  own. 

The  clocks  struck  nine.  The  young  man  gave  a  tender  em- 
brace to  his  companion,  and  went  toward  the  tilbury  which  an 
old  servant  drove  slowly  to  meet  him.  The  lady  had  grown 
grave  and  almost  sad.  The  child's  prattle  sounded  unchecked 
through  the  last  farewell  kisses.  Then  the  tilbury  rolled  away, 
and  the  lady  stood  motionless,  listening  to  the  sound  of  the 
wheels,  watching  the  little  cloud  of  dust  raised  by  its  passage 
along  the  road.  Charles  ran  down  the  green  pathway  back 
to  the  bridge  to  join  his  sister.  I  heard  his  silver  voice  call- 
ing to  her. 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  to  say  good-by  to  my  good 
friend?"  cried  he. 

Helene  looked  up.  Never,  surely,  did  such  hatred  gleam 
from  a  child's  eyes  as  from  hers  at  that  moment  when  she 
turned  them  on  the  brother  who  stood  beside  her  on  the  bank 
side.  She  gave  him  an  angry  push.  Charles  lost  his  footing 
on  the  steep  slope,  stumbled  over  the  roots  of  a  tree,  and  fell 
headlong  forward,  dashing  his  forehead  on  the  sharp-edged 
stones  of  the  embankment,  and,  covered  with  blood,  dis- 
appeared over  the  edge  into  the  muddy  river.  The  turbid 
water  closed  over  a  fair,  bright  head  with  a  shower  of  splashes; 
one  sharp  shriek  after  another  rang  in  my  ears  ;  then  the  sounds 
were  stifled  by  the  thick  stream,  and  the  poor  child  sank  with 
a  dull  sound  as  if  a  stone  had  been  thrown  into  the  water. 
The  accident  had  happened  with  more  than  lightning  swift- 
ness. I  sprang  down  the  footpath,  and  Helene,  stupefied  with 
horror,  shrieked  again  and  again — 

"Mamma!    mamma!" 

The  mother  was  there  at  my  side.  She  had  flown  to  the 
spot  like  a  bird.  But  neither  a  mother's  eyes  nor  mine  could 
find  the  exact  place  where  the  little  one  had  gone  under. 
There  was  a  wide  space  of  black  hurrying  water,  and  below  in 
the  bed  of  the  Bievre  ten  feet  of  mud.  There  was  not  the 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  131 

smallest  possibility  of  saving  the  child.  No  one  is  stirring  at 
that  hour  on  a  Sunday  morning,  and  there  are  neither  barges 
nor  anglers  on  the  Bievre.  There  was  not  a  creature  in  sight, 
not  a  pole  to  plumb  the  filthy  stream.  What  need  was  there  for 
me  to  explain  how  the  ugly-looking  accident  had  happened — 
accident  or  misfortune,  whichever  it  might  be?  Had  Helene 
avenged  her  father?  Her  jealousy  surely  was  the  sword  of 
God.  And  yet  when  I  looked  at  the  mother  I  shivered. 
What  fearful  ordeal  awaited  her  when  she  should  return  to  her 
husband,  the  judge  before  whom  she  must  stand  all  her  days? 
And  here  with  her  was  an  inseparable,  incorruptible  witness. 
A  child's  forehead  is  transparent,  a  child's  face  hides  no 
thoughts,  and  a  lie,  like  a  red  flame  set  within,  glows  out  in 
red  that  colors  even  the  eyes.  But  the  unhappy  woman  had 
not  thought  as  yet  of  the  punishment  awaiting  her  at  home ; 
she  was  staring  into  the  Bievre. 

Such  an  event  must  inevitably  send  ghastly  echoes  through 
a  woman's  life,  and  here  is  one  of  the  most  terrible  of  the  re- 
verberations that  troubled  Julie's  love  from  time  to  time. 

Several  years  had  gone  by.  The  Marquis  de  Vandenesse 
wore  mourning  for  his  father  and  succeeded  to  his  estates. 
One  evening,  therefore,  after  dinner  it  happened  that  a  notary 
was  present  in  his  house.  This  was  no  pettifogging  lawyer 
after  Sterne's  pattern,  but  a  very  solid,  substantial  notary  of 
Paris,  one  of  your  estimable  men  who  do  a  stupid  thing 
pompously,  set  down  a  foot  heavily  upon  your  private  corn, 
and  then  ask  what  in  the  world  there  is  to  cry  out  about  ?  If, 
by  accident,  they  come  to  know  the  full  extent  of  the  enor- 
mity: "Upon  my  word,"  cry  they,  "I  hadn't  a  notion!" 
This  was  a  well-intentioned  ass,  in  short,  who  could  see 
nothing  in  life  but  deeds  and  documents. 

Mme.  d'Aiglemont  had  been  dining  with  M.  de  Van- 
denesse ;  her  husband  had  excused  himself  before  dinner  was 
over,  for  he  was  taking  his  two  children  to  the  play.  They 


132  A   WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

were  to  go  to  some  boulevard  theatre  or  other,  to  the  Ambigu- 
Coraique  or  the  Gaiete,  sensational  melodrama  being  judged 
harmless  here  in  Paris,  and  suitable  pabulum  for  childhood, 
because  innocence  is  always  triumphant  in  the  fifth  act.  The 
boy  and  girl  had  teased  their  father  to  be  there  before  the 
curtain  rose,  so  he  had  left  the  table  before  dessert  was 
served. 

But  the  notary,  the  imperturbable  notary,  utterly  incapable 
of  asking  himself  why  Mme.  d'Aiglemont  should  have  allowed 
her  husband  and  children  to  go  without  her  to  the  play,  sat 
on  as  if  he  were  screwed  to  his  chair.  Dinner  was  over,  des- 
sert had  been  prolonged  by  discussion,  and  coffee  delayed. 
All  these  things  consumed  time,  doubtless  precious,  and  drew 
impatient  movements  from  that  charming  woman ;  she  looked 
not  unlike  a  thorough-bred  pawing  the  ground  before  a  race; 
but  the  man  of  law,  to  whom  horses  and  women  were  equally 
unknown  quantities,  simply  thought  the  marquise  a  very  lively 
and  sparkling  personage.  So  enchanted  was  he  to  be  in  the 
company  of  a  woman  of  fashion  and  a  political  celebrity,  that 
he  was  exerting  himself  to  shine  in  conversation,  and,  taking 
the  lady's  forced  smile  for  approbation,  talked  on  with  unflag- 
ging spirit,  till  the  marquise  was  almost  out  of  patience. 

The  master  of  the  house,  in  concert  with  the  lady,  had 
more  than  once  maintained  an  eloquent  silence  when  the 
lawyer  expected  a  civil  reply  ;  but  these  significant  pauses 
were  employed  by  the  talkative  nuisance  in  looking  for  anec- 
dotes in  the  fire.  M.  de  Vandenesse  had  recourse  to  his  watch  ; 
the  charming  marquise  tried  the  experiment  of  fastening  her 
bonnet  strings,  and  made  as  if  she  would  go.  But  she  did 
not  go,  and  the  notary,  blind  and  deaf,  and  delighted  with 
himself,  was  quite  convinced  that  his  interesting  conversa- 
tional powers  were  sufficient  to  keep  the  lady  on  the  spot. 

"I  shall  certainly  have  that  woman  fora  client,"  said  he 
to  himself. 

Meanwhile   the   marquise   stood,  putting    on   her   gloves, 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  133 

twisting  her  fingers,  looking  from  the  equally  impatient 
Marquis  de  Vandenesse  to  the  lawyer,  still  pounding  away. 
At  every  pause  in  the  worthy  man's  fire  of  witticisms  the 
charming  pair  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  their  looks  said 
plainly,  "  At  last  !  He  is  really  going  !  " 

Nothing  of  the  kind.  It  was  a  nightmare  which  could  only 
end  in  exasperating  the  two  impassioned  creatures,  on  whom 
the  lawyer  had  something  of  the  fascinating  effect  of  a  snake 
on  a  pair  of  birds ;  before  long  they  would  be  driven  to  cut 
him  short. 

The  clever  notary  was  giving  them  the  history  of  the  dis- 
creditable ways  in  which  one  du  Tillet  (a  stockbroker  then 
much  in  favor)  had  laid  the  foundations  of  his  fortune-;  all  the 
ins  and  outs  of  the  whole  disgraceful  business  were  accurately 
put  before  them  ;  and  the  narrator  was  in  the  very  middle  of 
his  tale  when  M.  de  Vandenesse  heard  the  clock  strike  nine. 
Then  it  became  clear  to  him  that  his  legal  adviser  was  very 
emphatically  an  idiot  who  must  be  sent  forthwith  about  his 
business.  He  stopped  him  resolutely  with  a  gesture. 

"The  tongs,  my  lord  marquis?"  queried  the  notary, 
handing  the  object  in  question  to  his  client. 

"No,  monsieur,  I  am  compelled  to  send  you  away.  Mme. 
d'Aiglemont  wishes  to  join  her  children,  and  I  shall  have  the 
honor  of  escorting  her." 

"  Nine  o'clock  already !  Time  goes  like  a  shadow  in 
pleasant  company,"  said  the  man  of  law,  who  had  talked  on 
end  for  the  past  hour. 

He  looked  for  his  hat,  planted  himself  before  the  fire,  with 
a  suppressed  hiccough  ;  and,  without  heeding  the  marquise's 
withering  glances,  spoke  once  more  to  his  impatient  client — 

"  To  sum  up,  my  lord  marquis.  Business  before  all  things. 
To-morrow,  then,  we  must  subpoena  your  brother  ;  we  will 
proceed  to  make  out  the  inventory,  and  faith,  after  that " 

So  ill  had  the  lawyer  understood  his  instructions  that  his 
impression  was  the  exact  opposite  to  the  one  intended.  It 


134  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

was  a  delicate  matter,  and  Vandenesse,  in  spite  of  himself, 
began  to  put  the  thick-headed  notary  right.  The  discussion 
which  followed  took  up  a  certain  amount  of  time. 

"Listen,"  the  diplomatist  said  at  last  at  a  sign  from  the 
lady,  "  you  are  puzzling  my  brains;  come  back  to-morrow  at 
nine  o'clock,  and  bring  my  attorney  with  you." 

"But,  as  I  have  the  honor  of  observing,  my  lord  marquis, 
we  are  not  certain  of  finding  Monsieur  Desroches  to-morrow, 
and  if  the  writ  is  not  issued  by  noon  to-morrow,  the  days  of 
grace  will  expire,  and  then " 

As  he  spoke,  a  carriage  entered  the  courtyard.  The  poor 
woman  turned  sharply  away  at  the  sound  to  hide  the  tears  in 
her  eyes.  The  marquis  rang  to  give  the  servant  orders  to  say 
that  he  was  not  at  home ;  but  before  the  footman  could  answer 
the  bell,  the  lady's  husband  reappeared.  He  had  returned 
unexpectedly  from  the  Gaiete,  and  held  both  children  by  the 
hand.  The  little  girl's  eyes  were  red;  the  boy  was  fretful 
and  very  cross. 

"What  can  have  happened?  "  asked  the  marquise. 

"  I  will  tell  you  by-and-by,"  said  the  general,  and,  catching 
a  glimpse  through  an  open  door  of  newspapers  on  the  table 
in  the  adjoining  sitting-room,  he  went  off.  The  marquise,  at 
the  end  of  her  patience,  flung  herself  down  on  the  sofa  in  des- 
peration. The  notary,  thinking  it  incumbent  upon  him  to 
be  amiable  with  the  children,  spoke  to  the  little  boy  in  an  in- 
sinuating tone — 

"  Well,  my  little  man,  and  what  is  there  on  at  the  theatre?" 

"  '  The  Valley  of  the  Torrent,'  "  said  Gustave  sulkily. 

"Upon  my  word  and  honor,"  declared  the  notary,  "au- 
thors nowadays  are  half  crazy.  '  The  Valley  of  the  Torrent ! ' 
Why  not  the  Torrent  of  the  Valley?  It  is  conceivable  that  a 
valley  might  be  without  a  torrent  in  it ;  now  if  they  had  said 
the  Torrent  of  the  Valley,  that  would  have  been  something 
clear,  something  precise,  something  definite  and  comprehen- 
sible. But  never  mind  that.  Now,  how  is  a  drama  to  take 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  135 

place  in  a  torrent  and  in  a  valley?  You  will  tell  me  that  in 
these  days  the  principal  attraction  lies  in  the  scenic  effect, 
and  the  title  is  a  capital  advertisement.  And  did  you  enjoy 
it,  my  little  friend?"  he  continued,  sitting  down  before  the 
child. 

When  the  notary  pursued  his  inquiries  as  to  the  possibilities 
of  a  drama  in  the  bed  of  a  torrent,  the  little  girl  turned  slowly 
away  and  began  to  cry.  Her  mother  did  not  notice  this  in 
her  intense  annoyance. 

"Oh!  yes,  monsieur,  I  enjoyed  it  very  much,"  said  the 
child.  "  There  was  a  dear  little  boy  in  the  play,  and  he  was 
all  alone  in  the  world,  because  his  papa  could  not  have  been 
his  real  papa.  And  when  he  came  to  the  top  of  the  bridge 
over  the  torrent,  a  big,  naughty  man  with  a  beard,  dressed  all 
in  black,  came  and  threw  him  into  the  water.  And  then 
Helene  began  to  sob  and  cry,  and  everybody  scolded  us,  and 
father  brought  us  away  quick,  quick " 

M.  de  Vandenesse  and  the  marquise  looked  on  in  dull 
amazement,  as  if  all  power  to  think  or  move  had  been  sud- 
denly paralyzed. 

"  Do  be  quiet,  Gustave  !  "  cried  the  general.  "  I  told  you 
that  you  were  not  to  talk  about  anything  that  happened  at 
the  play,  and  you  have  forgotten  what  I  said  already." 

"Oh,  my  lord  marquis,  your  lordship  must  excuse  him," 
cried  the  notary.  "  I  ought  not  to  have  asked  questions,  but 
I  had  no  idea " 

"  He  ought  not  to  have  answered  them,"  said  the  general, 
looking  sternly  at  the  child. 

It  seemed  that  the  marquise  and  the  master  of  the  house 
both  perfectly  understood  why  the  children  had  come  back  so 
suddenly.  Mme.  d'Aiglemont  looked  at  her  daughter,  and 
rose  as  if  to  go  to  her,  but  a  terrible  convulsion  passed  over 
her  face,  and  all  that  could  be  read  in  it  was  relentless  severity. 

"That  will  do,  Helene,"  she  said.  "Go  into  the  other 
room,  and  leave  off  crying." 


136  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

"  What  can  she  have  done,  poor  child  ?  "  asked  the  notary, 
thinking  to  appease  the  mother's  anger  and  to  stop  Helene's 
tears  at  one  stroke.  "  So  pretty  as  she  is,  she  must  be  as  good 
as  can  be ;  never  anything  but  a  joy  to  her  mother,  I  will  be 
bound.  Isn't  that  so,  my  little  girl?" 

Helene  cowered,  looked  at  her  mother,  dried  her  eyes, 
struggled  for  composure,  and  took  refuge  in  the  next  room. 

"And  you,  madame,  are  too  good  a  mother  not  to  love  all 
your  children  alike.  You  are  too  good  a  woman,  beside,  to 
have  any  of  those  lamentable  preferences  which  have  such  fatal 
effects,  as  we  lawyers  have  only  too  much  reason  to  know. 
Society  goes  through  our  hands ;  we  see  its  passions  in  that 
most  revolting  form — greed.  Here  it  is  the  mother  of  a 
family  trying  to  disinherit  her  husband's  children  to  enrich 
the  others  whom  she  loves  better ;  or  it  is  the  husband  who 
tries  to  leave  all  his  property  to  the  child  who  has  done  his 
best  to  earn  his  mother's  hatred.  And  then  begin  quarrels, 
and  fears,  and  deeds,  and  defeasances,  and  sham  sales,  and 
trusts,  and  all  the  rest  of  it — a  pretty  mess  ;  in  fact,  it  is  piti- 
able, upon  my  honor  pitiable  !  There  are  fathers  that  will 
spend  their  whole  lives  in  cheating  their  children  and  robbing 
their  wives.  Yes,  robbing  is  the  only  word  for  it.  We  were 
talking  of  tragedy ;  oh  !  I  can  assure  you  of  this,  that  if  we 
were  at  liberty  to  tell  the  real  reasons  of  some  donations  that 
I  know  of,  our  modern  dramatists  would  have  the  material  for 
some  sensational  bourgeois  dramas.  How  the  wife  manages  to 
get  her  way,  as  she  invariably  does,  I  cannot  think ;  for,  in 
spite  of  appearances  and  in  spite  of  their  weakness,  it  is  al- 
ways the  women  who  carry  the  day.  Ah  !  by  the  way,  they 
don't  take  me  in.  I  always  know  the  reason  at  the  bottom  of 
those  predilections  which  the  world  politely  styles  '  unaccount- 
able.' But  in  justice  to  the  husbands,  I  must  say  that  they 
never  discover  anything.  You  will  tell  me  that  this  is  a  mer- 
ciful dispens " 

Helene  had  come  back  to  the  drawing-room  with  her  father, 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  137 

and  was  listening  attentively.  So  well  did  she  understand  all 
that  was  said  that  she  gave  her  mother  a  frightened  glance, 
feeling,  with  a  child's  quick  instinct,  that  these  remarks  would 
aggravate  the  punishment  hanging  over  her.  The  marquise 
turned  her  white  face  to  Vandenesse  ;  and,  with  terror  in  her 
eyes,  indicated  her  husband,  who  stood  with  his  eyes  fixed 
]  absently  on  the  flower  pattern  of  the  carpet.  The  diploma- 
•  list,  accomplished  man  of  the  world  though  he  was,  could  no 
longer  contain  his  wrath,  he  gave  the  man  of  law  a  withering 
glance. 

"  Step  this  way,  sir,"  he  said,  and  he  went  hurriedly  to  the 
door  of  the  antechamber ;  the  notary  left  his  sentence  half 
finished,  and  followed,  quaking,  and  the  husband  and  wife 
were  left  together. 

"Now,  sir,"  said  the  Marquis  de  Vandenesse — he  banged 
the  drawing-room  door  and  spoke  with  concentrated  rage — 
"  ever  since  dinner  you  have  done  nothing  but  make  blunders 
and  talk  folly.  For  heaven's  sake,  go.  You  will  make  the 
most  frightful  mischief  before  you  have  done.  If  you  are  a 
clever  man  in  your  profession,  keep  to  your  profession  ;  and 
if  by  any  chance  you  should  go  into  society,  endeavor  to  be 
more  circumspect." 

With  that  he  went  back  to  the  drawing-room,  and  did  not 
even  wish  the  notary  good-evening.  For  a  moment  that 
worthy  stood  dumfounded,  bewildered,  utterly  at  a  loss. 
Then,  when  the  buzzing  in  his  ears  subsided,  he  thought  he 
heard  some  one  moaning  in  the  next  room.  Footsteps  came 
and  went,  and  bells  were  violently  rung.  He  was  by  no 
means  anxious  to  meet  the  marquis  again,  and  found  the  use 
of  his  legs  to  make  good  his  escape,  only  to  run  against  a 
hurrying  crowd  of  servants  at  the  door. 

"  Just  the  way  with  all  these  grand  folk,"  said  he  to  him- 
self outside  in  the  street  as  he  looked  about  for  a  cab. 
"  They  lead  you  on  to  talk  with  compliments,  and  you  think 
you  are  amusing  them.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  They  treat  you  in- 


138  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

solently ;  put  you  at  a  distance ;  even  put  you  out  at  the  door 
without  scruple.  After  all,  I  talked  very  cleverly,  I  said 
nothing  but  what  was  sensible,  well  turned,  and  discreet ;  and, 
upon  my  word,  he  advises  me  to  be  more  circumspect  in 
future.  I  will  take  good  care  of  that  !  Eh  !  the  mischief 
take  it !  I  am  a  notary  and  a  member  of  my  chamber ! 
Pshaw  !  it  was  an  ambassador's  fit  of  temper,  nothing  is 
sacred  for  people  of  that  kind.  To-morrow  he  shall  explain 
what  he  meant  by  saying  that  I  had  done  nothing  but  blunder 
and  talk  nonsense  in  his  house.  I  will  ask  him  for  an  expla- 
nation— that  is,  I  will  ask  him  to  explain  my  mistake.  After 

all  is  done  and  said,  I  am  in  the  wrong  perhaps Upon 

my  word,  it  is  very  good  of  me  to  cudgel  my  brains  like  this. 
What  business  is  it  of  mine?" 

So  the  notary  went  home  and  laid  the  enigma  before  his 
spouse,  with  a  complete  account  of  the  evening's  events  re- 
lated in  sequence. 

And  she  replied  :  "My  dear  Crottat,  his  excellency  was  per- 
fectly right  when  he  said  that  you  had  done  nothing  but 
blunder  and  talk  folly." 

"Why?" 

"  My  dear,  if  I  told  you  why,  it  would  not  prevent  you 
from  doing  the  same  thing  somewhere  else  to-morrow.  I  tell 
you  again — talk  of  nothing  but  business  when  you  go  out ; 
that  is  my  advice  to  you." 

"If  you  will  not  tell  me,  I  shall  ask  him  to-morrow." 

"  Why,  dear  me !  the  veriest  noodle  is  careful  to  hide  a 
thing  of  that  kind,  and  do  you  suppose  that  an  ambassador 
will  tell  you  about  it?  Really,  Crottat,  I  have  never  known 
you  so  utterly  devoid  of  commonsense." 

"Thank  you,  my  dear." 


V. 

TWO   MEETINGS. 

One  of  Napoleon's  orderly  staff- officers,  who  shall  be  known 
in  this  history  only  as  the  general  or  the  marquis,  had  come 
to  spend  the  spring  at  Versailles.  He  had  made  a  large  fortune 
under  the  Restoration  ;  and,  as  his  place  at  Court  would  not 
allow  him  to  go  very  far  from  Paris,  he  had  taken  a  country 
house  between  the  church  and  the  barrier  of  Montreuil,  on  the 
road  that  leads  to  the  Avenue  de  Saint-Cloud. 

The  house  had  been  built  originally  as  a  retreat  for  the  short- 
lived loves  of  some  great  lord.  The  grounds  were  large ;  the  gar- 
dens on  either  side  extending  from  the  first  houses  of  Montreuil 
to  the  thatched  cottages  near  the  barrier,  so  that  the  owner 
could  enjoy  all  the  pleasures  of  solitude  with  the  city  almost 
at  his  gates.  By  an  odd  piece  of  contradiction,  the  whole 
front  01  the  house  itself,  with  the  principal  entrance,  gave 
directly  upon  the  street.  Perhaps  in  time  past  it  was  a  toler- 
ably lonely  road,  and  indeed  this  theory  looks  all  the  more 
probable  when  one  comes  to  think  ot  it ;  for  not  so  very  far 
away,  on  this  same  road,  Louis  Quinze  built  a  delicious  summer 
villa  for  Mile,  de  Romans,  and  the  curious  in  such  things 
will  discover  that  the  wayside  casinos  (summer-houses)  are 
adorned  in  a  style  that  recalls  traditions  of  the  ingenious 
taste  displayed  in  debauchery  by  our  ancestors  who,  with  all 
the  license  laid  to  their  charge,  sought  to  invest  it  with  secrecy 
and  mystery. 

One  winter  evening  the  family  were  by  themselves  in  the 
lonely  house.  The  servants  had  received  permission  to  go  to 
Versailles  to  celebrate  the  wedding  of  one  of  their  number. 
It  was  Christmas-time,  and  the  holiday  makers,  presuming 
upon  the  double  festival,  did  not  scruple  to  outstay  their  leave 

'  (139) 


140  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

of  absence ;  yet,  as  the  general  was  well  known  to  be  a  man 
of  his  word,  the  culprits  felt  some  twinges  of  conscience  as 
they  danced  on  after  the  hour  of  return.  The  clocks  struck 
eleven,  and  still  there  was  no  sign  of  the  servants. 

A  deep  silence  prevailed  over  the  countryside,  broken  only 
by  the  sound  of  the  northeast  wind  whistling  through  the  black 
branches,  wailing  about  the  house,  dying  in  gusts  along  the 
corridors.  The  hard  frost  had  purified  the  air,  and  held  the 
earth  in  its  grip ;  the  roads  gave  back  every  sound  with  the 
hard  metallic  ring  which  always  strikes  us  with  a  new  surprise ; 
the  heavy  footsteps  of  some  belated  reveler,  or  a  cab  returning 
to  Paris,  could  be  heard  for  a  long  distance  with  unwonted 
distinctness.  Out  in  the  courtyard  a  few  dead  leaves  set 
a-dancing  by  some  eddying  gust  found  a  voice  for  the  night 
which  fain  had  been  silent.  It  was,  in  fact,  one  of  those 
sharp,  frosty  evenings  that  wring  barren  expressions  of  pity 
from  our  selfish  ease  for  wayfarers  and  the  poor,  and  fills  us 
with  a  luxurious  sense  of  the  comfort  of  the  fireside. 

But  the  family  party  in  the  salon  at  that  hour  gave  not  a 
thought  to  absent  servants  nor  houseless  folk,  nor  to  the 
gracious  charm  with  which  a  winter  evening  sparkles.  No 
one  played  the  philosopher  out  of  season.  Secure  in  the  pro- 
tection of  an  old  soldier,  women  and  children  gave  themselves 
up  to  the  joys  of  home  life,  so  delicious  when  there  is  no  re- 
straint upon  feeling ;  and  talk  and  play  and  glances  are  bright 
with  frankness  and  affection. 

The  general  sat,  or  more  properly  speaking,  lay  buried,  in 
the  depths  of  a  huge,  high-back  armchair  by  the  hearth.  The 
heaped-up  fire  burnt  scorchingly  clear  with  the  excessive  cold 
of  the  night.  The  good  father  leaned  his  head  slightly  to 
one  side  against  the  back  of  the  chair,  in  the  indolence  of 
perfect  serenity  and  a  glow  of  happiness.  The  languid,  half- 
sleepy  droop  of  his  outstretched  arms  seemed  to  complete  his 
expression  of  placid  content.  He  was  watching  his  youngest, 
a  boy  of  five  or  thereabout,  who,  half-clad  as  he  was,  declined 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  141 

to  allow  his  mother  to  undress  him.  The  little  one  fled  from 
the  night-gown  and  cap  with  which  he  was  threatened  now 
and  again,  and  stoutly  declined  to  part  with  his  embroidered 
collar,  laughing  when  his  mother  called  to  him,  for  he  saw 
that  she,  too,  was  laughing  at  this  declaration  of  infant  inde- 
pendence. The  next  step  was  to  go  back  to  a  game  of  romps 
with  his  sister.  She  was  as  much  a  child  as  he,  but  more  mis- 
chievous ;  and  she  was  older  by  two  years,  and  could  speak 
distinctly  already,  whereas  his  inarticulate  words  and  confused 
ideas  were  a  puzzle  even  to  his  parents.  Little  Mo'ina's  play- 
fulness, somewhat  coquettish  already,  provoked  inextinguish- 
able laughter,  explosions  of  merriment  which  went  off  like 
fireworks  for  no  apparent  cause.  As  they  tumbled  about  be- 
fore the  fire,  unconcernedly  displaying  little  plump  bodies 
and  delicate  white  contours,  as  the  dark  and  golden  curls 
mingled  in  a  collision  of  rosy  cheeks  dimpled  with  childish 
glee,  a  father  surely,  a  mother  most  certainly,  must  have  under- 
stood those  little  souls,  and  seen  the  character  and  power  of 
passion  already  developed  before  their  eyes.  As  the  cherubs 
frolicked  about,  struggling,  rolling,  and  tumbling  without  fear 
of  hurt  on  the  soft  carpet,  its  flowers  looked  pale  beside  the 
glowing  white  and  red  of  their  cheeks  and  the  brilliant  color 
of  their  shining  eyes. 

On  the  sofa  by  the  fire,  opposite  the  great  armchair,  the 
children's  mother  sat  among  a  heap  of  scattered  garments, 
with  a  little  scarlet  shoe  in  her  hand.  She  seemed  to  have 
given  herself  up  completely  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  moment ; 
wavering  discipline  had  relaxed  into  a  sweet  smile  engraved 
upon  her  lips.  At  the  age  of  six-and-thirty,  or  thereabout, 
she  was  a  beautiful  woman  still,  by  reason  of  the  rare  perfec- 
tion of  the  outlines  of  her  face,  and  at  this  moment  light  and 
warmth  and  happiness  filled  it  with  preternatural  brightness. 

Again  and  again  her  eyes  wandered  from  her  children,  and 
their  tender  gaze  was  turned  upon  her  husband's  grave  face; 


142  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

and  now  and  again  the  eyes  of  husband  and  wife  met  with  a 
silent  exchange  of  happiness  and  thoughts  from  some  inner 
depth. 

The  general's  face  was  deeply  bronzed,  a  stray  lock  of  gray 
hair  scored  shadows  on  his  forehead.  The  reckless  courage 
of  the  battlefield  could  be  read  in  the  lines  carved  in  his  hol- 
low cheeks,  and  gleams  of  rugged  strength  in  the  blue  eyes  ; 
clearly  the  bit  of  red  ribbon  flaunting  at  his  button-hole  had 
been  paid  for  by  hardship  and  toil.  An  inexpressible  kindli- 
ness and  frankness  shone  out  of  the  strong,  resolute  face  which 
reflected  his  children's  merriment ;  the  gray-haired  captain 
found  it  not  so  very  hard  to  become  a  child  again.  Is  there 
not  always  a  love  of  little  children  in  the  heart  of  a  soldier 
who  has  seen  enough  of  the  seamy-side  of  life  to  know  some- 
thing of  the  piteous  limitations  of  strength  and  the  privileges 
of  weakness  ? 

At  a  round  table  rather  farther  away,  in  a  circle  of  bright 
lamplight  that  dimmed  the  feebler  illumination  of  the  wax 
candles  on  the  mantel,  sat  a  boy  of  thirteen,  rapidly  turning 
the  pages  of  a  thick  volume  which  he  was  reading,  undisturbed 
by  the  shouts  of  the  children.  There  was  a  boy's  curiosity  in 
his  face.  From  his  lyceens  uniform  he  was  evidently  a  school- 
boy, and  the  book  he  was  reading  was  the  "  Arabian  Nights." 
Small  wonder  that  he  was  deeply  absorbed.  He  sat  perfectly 
still  in  a  meditative  attitude,  with  an  elbow  on  the  table,  and 
his  hand  propping  his  head — the  white  fingers  contrasting 
strongly  with  the  brown  hair  into  which  they  were  thrust. 
As  he  sat,  with  the  light  turned  full  upon  his  face,  and  the 
rest  of  his  body  in  shadow,  he  looked  like  one  of  Raphael's 
dark  portraits  of  himself — a  bent  head  and  intent  eyes  filled 
with  visions  of  the  future. 

Between  the  table  and  the  marquise  a  tall,  beautiful  girl  sat 
at  her  tapestry  frame ;  sometimes  she  drew  back  from  her 
work,  sometimes  she  bent  over  it,  and  her  hair,  picturesque 
in  its  ebony  smoothness  and  darkness,  caught  the  light  of  the 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  143 

lamp.  Helena  was  a  picture  in  herself.  In  her  beauty  there 
was  a  rare  distinctive  character  of  power  and  refinement. 
Though  her  hair  was  gathered  up  and  drawn  back  from  her 
face,  so  as  to  trace  a  clearly  marked  line  about  her  head,  so 
thick  and  abundant  was  it,  so  recalcitrant  to  the  comb,  that 
it  sprang  back  in  curl-tendrils  to  the  nape  of  her  neck.  The 
bountiful  line  of  eyebrows  was  evenly  marked  out  in  dark  con- 
trasting outline  upon  her  pure  forehead.  On  her  upper  lip 
beneath  the  Grecian  nose  with  its  sensitively  perfect  curve  of 
nostril,  there  lay  a  faint,  swarthy  shadow,  the  sign-manual 
of  coyrage ;  but  the  enchanting  roundness  of  contour,  the 
frankly  innocent  expression  of  her  other  features,  the  trans- 
parence of  the  delicate  carnations,  the  voluptuous  softness  of 
the  lips,  the  flawless  oval  of  the  outline  of  the  face,  and  with 
these,  and  more  than  all  these,  the  saintlike  expression  in  the 
girlish  eyes,  gave  to  her  vigorous  loveliness  the  distinctive 
touch  of  feminine  grace,  that  enchanting  modesty  which  we 
look  for  in  these  angels  of  peace  and  love.  Yet  there  was  no 
suggestion  of  fragility  about  her  ;  and,  surely,  with  so  grand 
a  woman's  frame,  so  attractive  a  face,  she  must  possess  a  corre- 
sponding warmth  of  heart  and  strength  of  soul. 

She  was  as  silent  as  her  schoolboy  brother.  Seemingly  a 
prey  to  the  fateful  maiden  meditations  which  baffle  a  father's 
penetration  and  even  a  mother's  sagacity,  it  was  impossible 
to  be  certain  whether  it  was  the  lamplight  that  cast  thos-e 
shadows  that  flitted  over  her  face  like  thin  clouds  over  a 
bright  sky,  or  whether  they  were  passing  shades  of  secret  and 
painful  thoughts. 

Husband  and  wife  had  quite  forgotten  the  two  older  chil- 
dren at  that  moment,  though  now  and  again  the  general's 
questioning  glance  traveled  to  that  second  mute  picture  ;  a 
larger  growth,  a  gracious  realization,  as  it  were,  of  the  hopes 
embodied  in  the  baby  forms  rioting  in  the  foreground.  Their 
faces  made  up  a  kind  of  living  poem,  illustrating  life's  various 
phases.  The  luxurious  background  of  the  salon,  the  different 


144  A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY. 

attitudes,  the  strong  contrasts  of  coloring  in  the  faces,  differ- 
ing with  the  character  of  differing  ages,  the  modeling  of  the 
forms  brought  into  high  relief  by  the  light — altogether  it  was 
a  page  of  human  life,  richly  illuminated  beyond  the  art  of 
painter,  sculptor,  or  poet.  Silence,  solitude,  night,  and  winter 
lent  a  final  touch  of  majesty  to  complete  the  simplicity  and 
sublimity  of  this  exquisite  effect  of  nature's  contriving.  Mar- 
ried life  is  full  of  these  sacred  hours,  which  perhaps  owe  their 
indefinable  charm  to  some  vague  memory  of  a  better  world. 
A  divine  radiance  surely  shines  upon  them,  the  destined  com- 
pensation for  some  portion  of  earth's  sorrows,  the  solace  which 
enables  man  to  accept  life.  We  seem  to  behold  a  vision  of 
an  enchanted  universe,  the  great  conception  of  its  system 
widens  out  before  our  eyes,  and  social  life  pleads  for  its  laws 
by  bidding  us  look  to  the  future. 

Yet  in  spite  of  the  tender  glances  that  Helene  gave  Abel 
and  Moina  after  a  fresh  outburst  of  merriment ;  in  spite  of 
the  look  of  gladness  in  her  transparent  face  whenever  she  stole 
a  glance  at  her  father,  a  deep  melancholy  pervaded  her  ges- 
tures, her  attitude,  and,  more  than  all,  her  eyes  veiled  by 
their  long  lashes.  Those  white,  strong  hands,  through  which 
the  light  passed,  tinting  them  with  a  diaphanous  almost  fluid 
red — those  hands  were  trembling.  Once  only  did  the  eyes 
of  the  mother  and  daughter  clash  without  shrinking,  and  the 
two  women  read  each  other's  thoughts  in  a  look,  cold,  wan, 
and  respectful  on  Helene's  part,  sombre  and  threatening  on 
her  mother's.  At  once  Helene's  eyes  were  lowered  to  her 
work,  she  plied  her  needle  swiftly,  and  it  was  long  before  she 
raised  her  head,  bowed  as  it  seemed  by  a  weight  of  thought 
too  heavy  to  bear.  Was  the  marquise  over-harsh  with  this 
one  of  her  children  ?  Did  she  think  this  harshness  needful  ? 
Was  she  jealous  of  Helene's  beauty?  She  might  still  hope  to 
rival  Helene,  but  only  by  the  magic  arts  of  the  toilet.  Or, 
again,  had  her  daughter,  like  many  a  girl  who  reaches  the 
clairvoyant  age,  read  the  secrets  which  this  wife  (to  all  ap- 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  145 

pearance  so  religiously  faithful  in  the  fulfillment  of  her  duties) 
believed  to  be  buried  in  her  own  heart  as  deeply  as  in  a 
grave  ? 

Helene  had  reached  an  age  when  purity  of  soul  inclines  to 
pass  over-rigid  judgments.  A  certain  order  of  mind  is  apt 
to  exaggerate  transgression  into  crime ;  imagination  reacts 
upon  conscience,  and  a  young  girl  is  a  hard  judge  because  she 
magnifies  the  seriousness  of  the  offense.  Helene  seemed  to 
think  herself  worthy  of  no  one.  Perhaps  there  was  a  secret 
in  her  past  life,  perhaps  something  had  happened,  unintelligi- 
ble to  her  at  the  time,  but  with  gradually  developing  signifi- 
cance for  a  mind  grown  susceptible  to  religious  influences; 
something  which  lately  seemed  to  have  degraded  her,  as  it 
were,  in  her  own  eyes  and  according  to  her  own  romantic 
standard.  This  change  in  her  demeanor  dated  from  the  day 
of  reading  Schiller's  noble  tragedy  of  "William  Tell"  in  a 
series  of  translations.  Her  mother  scolded  her  for  letting  the 
book  fall,  and  then  remarked  to  herself  that  the  passage  which 
had  so  worked  on  Helene's  feelings  was  the  scene  in  which 
William  Tell,  who  spilt  the  blood  of  a  tyrant  to  save  a  nation, 
fraternizes  in  some  sort  with  John  the  Parricide.  Helene 
had  grown  humble,  dutiful,  and  self-contained ;  she  no  longer 
cared  for  gayety.  Never  had  she  made  so  much  of  her  father, 
especially  when  the  marquise  was  not  by  to  watch  her  girlish 
caresses.  And  yet,  if  Helene's  affection  for  her  mother  had 
cooled  at  all,  the  change  in  her  manner  was  so  slight  as  to  be 
almost  imperceptible;  so  slight  that  the  general  could  not 
have  noticed  it,  jealous  though  he  might  be  of  the  harmony 
of  home.  No  masculine  insight  could  have  sounded  the 
depths  of  those  two  feminine  natures ;  the  one  was  young  and 
generous,  the  other  sensitive  and  proud ;  the  first  had  a 
wealth  of  indulgence  in  her  nature,  the  second  was  full  of 
craft  and  love.  If  the  marquise  made  her  daughter's  life  a 
burden  to  her  by  a  woman's  subtle  tyranny,  it  was  a  tyranny 
invisible  to  all  but  the  victim ;  and,  for  the  rest,  these  con- 
10 


146  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

jectures  only  called  forth  after  the  event  must  remain  conjec- 
tures. Until  this  night  no  accusing  flash  of  light  had  escaped 
either  of  them,  but  an  ominous  mystery  was  too  surely  growing 
up  between  them,  a  mystery  known  only  to  themselves  and 
God. 

"  Come,  Abel,"  called  the  marquise,  seizing  on  her  oppor- 
tunity when  the  children  were  tired  of  play  and  still  for  a 
moment.  "  Come,  come,  my  child ;  you  must  be  put  to 
bed " 

And  with  a  glance  that  must  be  obeyed,  she  caught  him  up 
and  took  him  on  her  knee. 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  the  general.  "  Half-past  ten  o'clock, 
and  not  one  of  the  servants  has  come  back  !  The  rascals ! 
Gustave,"  he  added,  turning  to  his  son,  "I  allowed  you  to 
read  that  book  only  on  the  condition  that  you  should  put  it 
away  at  ten  o'clock.  You  ought  to  have  shut  up  the  book  at 
the  proper  time  and  gone  to  bed,  as  you  promised.  If  you 
mean  to  make  your  mark  in  the  world,  you  must  keep  youi 
word  ;  let  it  be  a  second  religion  to  you  and  a  point  of  honor. 
Fox,  one  of  the  greatest  of  English  orators,  was  remarkable, 
above  all  things,  for  the  beauty  of  his  character,  and  the  very 
first  of  his  qualities  was  the  scrupulous  faithfulness  with  which 
he  kept  his  engagements.  When  he  was  a  child,  his  father 
(an  Englishman  of  the  old  school)  gave  him  a  pretty  strong 
lesson  which  he  never  forgot.  Like  most  rich  Englishmen, 
Fox's  father  had  a  country  house  and  a  considerable  park 
about  it.  Now,  in  the  park  there  was  an  old  summer-house, 
and  orders  had  been  given  that  this  summer-house  was  to  be 
pulled  down  and  put  up  somewhere  else  where  there  was  a 
finer  view.  Fox  was  just  about  your  age,  and  had  come  home 
for  the  holidays.  Boys  are  fond  of  seeing  things  pulled  to 
pieces,  so  young  Fox  asked  to  stay  on  at  home  for  a  few  days 
longer  to  see  the  old  summer-house  taken  down  ;  but  his 
father  said  that  he  must  go  back  to  school  on  the  proper  day, 
so  there  was  anger  between  father  and  son.  Fox's  mother 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  147 

(like  all  mammas)  took  the  boy's  part.  Then  the  father 
solemnly  promised  that  the  summer-house  should  stay  where 
it  was  till  the  next  holidays. 

"  So  Fox  went  back  to  school ;  and  his  father,  thinking  that 
lessons  would  soon  drive  the  whole  thing  out  of  the  boy's 
mind,  had  the  summer-house  pulled  down  and  put  up  in  the 
new  position.  But,  as  it  happened,  the  persistent  youngster 
thought  of  nothing  but  that  summer-house  ;  and  as  soon  as  he 
came  home  again,  his  first  care  was  to  go  out  to  look  at  the 
old  building,  and  he  came  in  to  breakfast  looking  quite  dole- 
ful, and  said  to  his  father:  'You  have  broken  your  promise.' 
The  old  English  gentleman  said  with  confusion  full  of  dignity, 
*  That  is  true,  my  boy ;  but  I  will  make  amends.  A  man 
ought  to  think  of  keeping  his  word  before  he  thinks  of  his 
fortune ;  for  by  keeping  to  his  word  he  will  gain  fortune, 
while  all  the  fortunes  in  the  world  will  not  efface  the  stain  left 
on  your  conscience  by  a  breach  of  faith.'  Then  he  gave 
orders  that  the  summer-house  should  be  put  up  again  in  the 
old  place,  and  when  it  had  been  rebuilt  he  had  it  taken  down 
again  for  his  son  to  see.  Let  this  be  a  lesson  to  you,  Gustave." 

Gustave  had  been  listening  with  interest,  and  now  he  closed 
the  book  at  once.  There  was  a  moment's  silence,  while  the 
general  took  possession  of  MoYna,  who  could  scarcely  keep  her 
eyes  open.  The  little  one's  languid  head  fell  back  on  her 
father's  breast,  and  in  a  moment  she  was  fast  asleep,  wrapped 
round  about  in  her  golden  curls. 

Just  then  a  sound  of  hurrying  footsteps  rang  on  the  pave- 
ment out  in  the  street,  immediately  followed  by  three  knocks 
on  the  street-door,  waking  the  echoes  of  the  house.  The  re- 
verberating blows  told,  as  plainly  as  a  cry  for  help,  that  here 
was  a  man  flying  for  his  life.  The  house  dog  barked  furiously. 
A  thrill  of  excitement  ran  through  Helene  and  Gustave  and 
the  general  and  his  wife ;  but  neither  Abel,  with  the  night- 
cap strings  just  tied  under  his  chin,  nor  Mo'ina  awoke. 

"The  fellow  is  in  a  hurry!  "  exclaimed  the  general.     He 


148  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

put  the  little  girl  down  on  the  chair  and  hastened  out  of  the 
room,  heedless  of  his  wife's  entreating  cry :  "  Dear,  do  not  go 
down " 

He  stepped  into  his  own  room  for  a  pair  of  pistols,  lighted 
a  dark  lantern,  sprang  at  lightning  speed  down  the  staircase, 
and  in  another  minute  reached  the  house-door,  his  oldest  boy 
fearlessly  following. 

"  Who  is  there?  "  demanded  he. 

"Let  me  in,"  panted  a  breathless  voice. 

"  Are  you  a  friend  ?  " 

"Yes,  friend." 

"Are  you  alone?" 

"  Yes  !     But  let  me  in  ;  they  are  after  me  !  " 

The  general  had  scarcely  set  the  door  ajar  before  a  man 
slipped  into  the  porch  with  the  uncanny  swiftness  of  a  shadow. 
Before  the  master  of  the  house  could  prevent  him,  the  intruder 
had  closed  the  door  with  a  well-directed  kick,  and  set  his  back 
against  it  resolutely,  as  if  he  were  determined  that  it  should 
not  be  opened  again.  In  a  moment  the  general  had  his  lan- 
tern and  pistol  at  a  level  with  the  stranger's  breast,  and  beheld 
a  man  of  medium  height  in  a  fur-lined  pelisse.  It  was  an  old 
man's  garment,  both  too  large  and  too  long  for  its  present 
wearer.  Chance  or  caution  had  slouched  the  man's  hat  over 
his  eyes. 

"You  can  lower  your  pistol,  sir,"  said  this  person.  "I 
do  not  claim  to  stay  in  your  house  against  your  will ;  but  if  I 
leave  it,  death  is  waiting  for  me  at  the  barrier.  And  what  a 
death  !  You  would  be  answerable  to  God  for  it !  I  ask  for 
your  hospitality  for  two  hours.  And  bear  this  in  mind,  sir, 
that,  suppliant  as  I  am,  I  have  a  right  to  command  with  the 
despotism  of  necessity.  I  want  the  Arab's  hospitality.  Either 
I  and  my  secret  must  be  inviolable,  or  open  the  door  and  I 
will  go  to  my  death.  I  want  secrecy,  a  safe  hiding-place,  and 
water.  Oh!  water!"  he  cried  again,  with  a  rattle  in  his 
throat. 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  149 

"Who  are  you?"  demanded  the  general,  taken  aback  by 
the  stranger's  feverish  volubility. 

"Ah  !  who  am  I?  Good,  open  the  door,  and  I  will  put  a 
distance  between  us,"  retorted  the  other,  and  there  was  a 
diabolical  irony  in  his  tone. 

Dexterously  as  the  marquis  passed  the  light  of  the  lantern 
over  the  man's  face,  he  could  only  see  the  lower  half  of  it, 
and  that  in  nowise  prepossessed  him  in  favor  of  this  singular 
claimant  of  hospitality.  The  cheeks  were  livid  and  quivering, 
the  features  dreadfully  contorted.  Under  the  shadow  of  the 
hat-brim  a  pair  of  eyes  gleamed  out  like  flames;  the  feeble 
candlelight  looked  almost  dim  in  comparison.  Some  sort  of 
answer  must  be  made  however. 

"Your  language,  sir,  is  so  extraordinary  that  in  my  place 
you  yourself " 

"My  life  is  in  your  hands  !  "  the  intruder  broke  in.  The 
sound  of  his  voice  was  dreadful  to  hear. 

"Two  hours?"  said  the  marquis  wavering. 

"Two  hours,"  echoed  the  other. 

Then  quite  suddenly,  with  a  desperate  gesture,  he  pushed 
back  his  hat  and  left  his  forehead  bare,  and,  as  if  he  meant  to 
try  a  final  expedient,  he  gave  the  general  a  glance  that  seemed 
to  plunge  like  a  vivid  flash  into  his  very  soul.  That  electrical 
discharge  of  intelligence  and  will  was  swift  as  lightning  and 
crushing  as  a  thunderbolt ;  for  there  are  moments  when  a 
human  being  is  invested  for  a  brief  space  with  inexplicable 
power. 

"  Come,  whoever  you  may  be,  you  shall  be  in  safety  under 
my  roof,"  the  master  of  the  house  said  gravely  at  last,  acting, 
as  he  imagined,  upon  one  of  those  intuitions  which  a  man 
cannot  always  explain  to  himself. 

"God  will  repay  you!"  said  the  stranger,  with  a  deep, 
involuntary  sigh. 

"  Have  you  weapons?  "  asked  the  general. 

For  all   answer   the  stranger  flung  open   his   fur   pelisse, 


150  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

and  scarcely  gave  the  other  time  for  a  glance  before  he 
wrapped  it  about  him  again.  To  all  appearance  he  was  un- 
armed and  in  evening  dress.  Swift  as  the  soldier's  scrutiny 
had  been,  he  saw  something,  however,  which  made  him  ex- 
claim— 

"Where  the  devil  have  you  been  to  get  yourself  in  such  a 
mess  in  such  dry  weather?  " 

"  More  questions  !  "  said  the  stranger  haughtily. 

At  the  words  the  marquis  caught  sight  of  his  son,  and  his 
own  late  homily  on  the  strict  fulfillment  of  a  given  word  came 
up  in  his  mind.  In  lively  vexation,  he  exclaimed,  not  with- 
out a  touch  of  anger — 

"What  !  little  rogue,  you  here  when  you  ought  to  be  in 
bed?" 

"Because  I  thought  I  might  be  some  good  in  danger," 
answered  Gustave. 

"  There,  go  up  to  your  room,"  said  his  father,  mollified  by 
the  reply.  "And  you"  (addressing  the  stranger),  "come 
with  me." 

The  two  men  grew  as  silent  as  a  pair  of  gamblers  who  watch 
each  other's  play  with  mutual  suspicions.  The  general  him- 
self began  to  be  troubled  with  ugly  presentiments.  The 
strange  visit  weighed  upon  his  mind  already  like  a  nightmare ; 
but  he  had  passed  his  word,  there  was  no  help  for  it  now, 
and  he  led  the  way  along  the  passages  and  stairways  till  they 
reached  a  large  room  on  the  third  floor  immediately  above  the 
salon.  This  was  an  empty  room  where  linen  was  dried  in  the 
winter.  It  had  but  the  one  door,  and  for  all  decoration 
boasted  one  solitary,  shabby  looking-glass  above  the  mantel, 
left  by  the  previous  owner,  and  a  great  pier-glass,  placed 
provisionally  opposite  the  fireplace  until  such  time  as  a  use 
should  be  found  for  it  in  the  rooms  below.  The  four  yellow- 
ish walls  were  bare.  The  floor  had  never  been  swept.  The 
huge  attic  was  icy-cold,  and  the  furniture  consisted  of  a  couple 
of  rickety  straw-bottomed  chairs,  or  rather  frames  of  chairs. 


A    WOMAN   OF  THIRTY.  151 

The  general  set  the  lantern  down  upon  the  mantel.  Then  he 
spoke  : 

"  It  is  necessary  for  your  own  safety  to  hide  you  in  this 
comfortless  attic.  And,  as  you  have  my  promise  to  keep  your 
secret,  you  will  permit  me  to  lock  you  in." 

The  other  bent  his  head  in  acquiescence. 

"I  asked  for  nothing  but  a  hiding-place,  secrecy,  and 
water,"  returned  he. 

"  I  will  bring  you  some  directly,"  said  the  marquis,  shutting 
the  door  cautiously.  He  groped  his  way  down  into  the  salon 
for  a  lamp  before  going  to  the  kitchen  to  look  for  a  carafe. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  the  marquise  asked  quickly. 

"Nothing,  dear,"  he  returned  coolly. 

"But  we  listened,  and  we  certainly  heard  you  go  upstairs 
with  somebody." 

"  Helene,"  said  the  general,  and  he  looked  at  his  daughter, 
who  raised  her  face,  "bear  in  mind  that  your  father's  honor 
depends  upon  your  discretion.  You  must  have  heard  nothing." 

The  girl  bent  her  head  in  answer.  The  marquise  was  con- 
fused and  smarting  inwardly  at  the  way  in  which  her  husband 
had  thought  fit  to  silence  her. 

Meanwhile  the  general  went  for  the  bottle  and  a  tumbler, 
and  returned  to  the  room  above.  His  prisoner  was  leaning 
against  the  mantel,  his  head  was  bare,  he  had  flung  down  his 
hat  on  one  of  the  two  chairs.  Evidently  he  had  not  expected 
to  have  so  bright  a  light  turned  upon  him,  and  he  frowned 
and  looked  anxious  as  he  met  the  general's  keen  eyes  ;  but  his 
face  softened  and  wore  a  gracious  expression  as  he  thanked 
his  protector.  When  the  latter  placed  the  bottle  and  glass  on 
the  mantel-shelf,  the  stranger's  eyes  flashed  out  on  him  again  ; 
and  when  he  spoke,  it  was  in  musical  tones  with  no  sign  of 
the  previous  guttural  convulsion,  though  his  voice  was  still 
unsteady  with  repressed  emotion. 

"  I  shall  seem  to  you  to  be  a  strange  being,  sir,  but  you 
must  pardon  the  caprices  of  necessity.  If  you  propose  to  re- 


152  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

main  in  the  room,  I  beg  that  you  will  not  look  at  me  while  I 
am  drinking." 

Vexed  at  this  continual  obedience  to  a  man  whom  he  dis- 
liked, the  general  sharply  turned  his  back  upon  him.  The 
stranger  thereupon  drew  a  white  handkerchief  from  his  pocket 
and  wound  it  about  his  right  hand.  Then  he  seized  the 
carafe  and  emptied  it  at  a  draught.  The  marquis,  staring 
vacantly  into  the  tall  mirror  across  the  room,  without  a 
thought  of  breaking  his  implicit  promise,  saw  the  stranger's 
figure  distinctly  reflected  by  the  opposite  looking-glass,  and 
saw,  too,  a  red  stain  suddenly  appear  through  the  folds  of  the 
white  bandage — the  man's  hands  were  steeped  in  blood. 

"Ah  !  you  saw  me  !  "  cried  the  other.  He  had  drunk  off 
the  water  and  wrapped  himself  again  in  his  cloak,  and  now 
scrutinized  the  general  suspiciously.  "  It  is  all  over  with  me  ! 
Here  they  come  !  " 

"I  don't  hear  anything,"  said  the  marquis, 

"You  have  not  the  same  interest  that  I  have  in  listening 
for  sounds  in  the  air." 

"  You  have  been  fighting  a  duel,  I  suppose,  to  be  in  such  a 
state?"  queried  the  general,  not  a  little  disturbed  by  the 
color  of  those  broad,  dark  patches  staining  his  visitor's  shabby 
cloak. 

"Yes,  a  duel;  you  have  it,"  said  the  other,  and  a  bitter 
smile  flitted  over  his  lips. 

As  he  spoke  a  sound  rang  along  the  distant  road,  a  sound 
of  galloping  horses ;  but  so  faint  as  yet  that  it  was  the  merest 
dawn  of  a  sound.  The  general's  trained  ear  recognized  the 
advance  of  a  troop  of  regulars. 

"That  is  the  gendarmerie,"  said  he. 

He  glanced  at  his  prisoner  to  reassure  him  after  his  own 
involuntary  indiscretion,  took  the  lamp,  and  went  down  to  the 
salon.  He  had  scarcely  laid  the  key  of  the  room  above  upon 
the  mantel  when  the  hoof-beats  sounded  louder  and  came 
swiftly  nearer  and  nearer  the  house.  The  general  felt  a  shiver 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  153 

of  excitement,  and  indeed  the  horses  stopped  at  the  house- 
door;  a  few  words  were  exchanged  among  the  men,  and  one 
of  them  dismounted  and  knocked  loudly.  There  was  no  help 
for  it ;  the  general  went  to  open  the  door.  He  could  scarcely 
conceal  his  inward  perturbation  at  the  sight  of  half  a  dozen 
gendarmes  outside,  the  metal  rims  of  their  caps  gleaming  like 
silver  in  the  moonlight. 

"  My  lord,"  said  the  corporal,  "  have  you  heard  a  man  run 
past  toward  the  barrier  within  the  last  few  minutes?  " 

"Toward  the  barrier?     No." 

"  Have  you  opened  the  door  to  any  one?  " 

"  Now,  am  I  in  the  habit  of  answering  the  door  myself, 
what ?" 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  general,  but  just  now  it  seems  to  me 
that " 

"Really!  "  cried  the  marquis  wrathfully.  "Have  you  a 
mind  to  try  joking  with  me?  What  right  have  you ?" 

"None  at  all,  none  at  all,  my  lord,"  cried  the  corporal, 
hastily  putting  in  a  soft  answer.  "You  will  excuse  our  zeal. 
We  know,  of  course,  that  a  peer  of  France  is  not  likely  to 
harbor  a  murderer  at  this  time  of  night ;  but  as  we  want  any 
information  we  can  get " 

"A  murderer  !  "  cried  the  general.  "  Who,  then,  can  have 
been " 

"  Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Mauny  has  just  been  murdered.  It 
was  a  blow  from  an  axe,  and  we  are  in  hot  pursuit  of  the 
criminal.  We  know  for  certain  that  he  is  somewhere  in  this 
neighborhood,  and  we  shall  hunt  him  down.  By  your  leave, 
general,"  and  the  man  swung  himself  into  the  saddle  as  he 
spoke.  It  was  well  that  he  did  so,  for  a  corporal  of  gendar- 
merie trained  to  alert  observation  and  quick  surmise  would 
have  had  his  suspicions  at  once  if  he  had  caught  sight  of  the 
general's  face.  Everything  that  passed  through  the  soldier's 
mind  was  faithfully  revealed  in  his  frank  countenance. 

"  Is  it  known  whom  the  murderer  is?  "  asked  he. 


154  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY, 

"No,"  said  the  other,  now  in  the  saddle.  "He  left  the 
bureau  full  of  bank-notes  and  gold  untouched." 

"It  was  revenge,  then,"  said  the  marquis. 

"  On  an  old  man  ?  pshaw  !  No,  no,  the  fellow  hadn't  time 
to  take  it,  that  was  all,"  and  the  corporal  galloped  after  his 
comrades,  who  were  almost  out  of  sight  by  this  time. 

For  a  few  minutes  the  general  stood,  a  victim  to  perplexities 
which  need  no  explanation  ;  but  in  a  moment  he  heard  the 
servants  returning  home,  their  voices  were  raised  in  some  sort 
of  dispute  at  the  cross-roads  of  Montreuil.  When  they  came 
in  he  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in  an  explosion  of  rage,  his 
wrath  fell  upon  them  like  a  thunderbolt,  and  all  the  echoes  of 
the  house  trembled  at  the  sound  of  his  voice.  In  the  midst 
of  the  storm  his  own  man,  the  boldest  and  cleverest  of  the 
party,  brought  out  an  excuse;  they  had  been  stopped,  he  said, 
by  the  gendarmerie  at  the  gate  of  Montreuil,  a  murder  had 
been  committed,  and  the  police  were  in  pursuit.  In  a  mo- 
ment the  general's  anger  vanished,  he  said  not  another  word  ; 
then,  bethinking  himself  of  his  own  singular  position,  drily 
ordered  them  all  off  to  bed  at  once,  and  left  them  amazed  at 
his  readiness  to  accept  their  fellow-servant's  lying  excuse. 

While  these  incidents  took  place  in  the  yard,  an  apparently 
trifling  occurrence  had  changed  the  relative  positions  of  three 
characters  in  this  story.  The  marquis  had  scarcely  left  the 
room  before  his  wife  looked  first  toward  the  key  on  the  man- 
tel-shelf and  then  at  Helene,  and,  after  some  wavering,  bent 
toward  her  daughter  and  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  Helene,  your 
father  has  left  the  key  on  the  mantel." 

The  girl  looked  up  in  surprise  and  glanced  timidly  at  her 
mother.  The  marquise's  eyes  sparkled  with  curiosity. 

"Well,  mamma?"  she  said,  and  her  voice  had  a  troubled 
ring. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  is  going  on  upstairs.  If 
there  is  anybody  up  there,  he  has  not  stirred  yet.  Just  go 
quietly  up " 


A    WOMAN   OF  THIRTY.  155 

"/?"  cried  the  girl,  with  something  like  horror  in  her 
tones. 

"Are  you  afraid?  " 

"No,  mamma,  but  I  thought  I  heard  a  man's  footsteps,'* 
she  answered. 

*'  If  I  could  go  myself,  I  should  not  have  asked  you  to  go, 
Helene,"  said  her  mother  with  cold  dignity.  "  If  your  father 
were  to  come  back  and  did  not  see  me,  he  would  go  to  look 
for  me,  perhaps,  but  he  would  not  notice  your  absence.'' 

"Madame,  if  you  bid  me  go,  I  will  go,"  said  Helene, 
"  but  I  shall  lose  my  father's  good  opinion " 

"What  is  this?"  cried  the  marquise  in  a  sarcastic  tone, 
"But,  since  you  take  a  thing  that  was  said  in  joke  in  earnest, 
I  now  order  you  to  go  upstairs  and  see  whom  it  is  in  the  room 
above.  Here  is  the  key,  child.  When  your  father  told  you 
to  say  nothing  about  this  thing  that  happened,  he  did  not 
forbid  you  to  go  up  to  the  room.  Go  at  once — and  learn 
that  a  daughter  ought  never  to  judge  her  mother." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  with  all  the  severity  of  a  justly 
offended  mother.  The  marquise  took  the  key  and  handed  it 
to  Helene,  who  rose  without  a  word  and  left  the  room. 

"  My  mother  can  always  easily  obtain  her  pardon,"  thought 
the  girl ;  "  but  as  for  me,  my  father  will  never  think  the  same 
of  me  again.  Does  she  mean  to  rob  me  of  his  tenderness? 
Does  she  want  to  turn  me  out  of  his  house? " 

These  were  the  thoughts  that  set  her  imagination  in  a 
sudden  ferment,  as  she  went  down  the  dark  passage  to  the 
mysterious  door  at  the  end.  When  she  stood  before  it,  her 
mental  confusion  grew  to  a  fearful  pitch.  Feelings  hitherto 
forced  down  into  inner  depths  crowded  up  at  the  summons  of 
these  confused  thoughts.  Perhaps  hitherto  she  had  never  be- 
lieved that  a  happy  life  lay  before  her,  but  now,  in  this  awful 
moment,  her  despair  was  complete.  She  shook  convulsively 
as  she  set  the  key  in  the  lock ;  so  great,  indeed,  was  her  agita- 
tion that  she  stopped  for  a  moment  and  laid  her  hand  on  her 


156  A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY. 

heart,  as  if  to  still  the  heavy  throbs  that  sounded  in  her  ears. 
Then  she  opened  the  door. 

The  creaking  of  the  hinges  sounded  doubtless  in  vain  on 
the  murderer's  ears.  Acute  as  were  his  powers  of  hearing,  he 
stood  as  if  lost  in  thought,  and  so  motionless  that  he  might 
have  been  glued  to  the  wall  against  which  he  leaned.  In  the 
circle  of  semi-opaque  darkness,  dimly  lit  by  the  bull's-eye 
lantern,  he  looked  like  the  shadowy  figure  of  some  dead 
knight,  standing  for  ever  in  his  shadowy  mortuary  niche  in 
the  gloom  of  some  Gothic  chapel.  Drops  of  cold  sweat 
trickled  over  the  broad,  sallow  forehead.  An  incredible  fear- 
lessness looked  out  from  every  tense  feature.  His  eyes  of  fire 
were  fixed  and  tearless;  he  seemed  to  be  watching  some 
struggle  in  the  darkness  beyond  him.  Stormy  thoughts  passed 
swiftly  across  a  face  whose  firm  decision  spoke  of  a  character 
of  no  common  order.  His  whole  person,  bearing,  and  frame 
bore  out  the  impression  of  a  tameless  spirit.  The  man  looked 
power  and  strength  personified  ;  he  stood  facing  the  darkness 
as  if  it  were  the  visible  image  of  his  own  future. 

These  physical  characteristics  had  made  no  impression  upon 
the  general,  familiar  as  he  was  with  the  powerful  faces  of  the 
group  of  giants  gathered  about  Napoleon ;  speculative  curi- 
osity, moreover,  as  to  the  why  and  wherefore  of  the  apparition 
had  completely  filled  his  mind;  but  Helene,  with  feminine 
sensitiveness  to  surface  impressions,  was  struck  by  the  blended 
chaos  of  light  and  darkness,  grandeur  and  passion,  suggesting 
a  likeness  between  this  stranger  and  Lucifer  recovering  from 
his  fall.  Suddenly  the  storm  apparent  in  his  face  was  stilled 
as  if  by  magic ;  and  the  indefinable  power  to  sway  which  the 
stranger  exercised  upon  others,  and  perhaps  unconsciously 
and  as  by  reflex  action  upon  himself,  spread  its  influence  about 
him  with  the  progressive  swiftness  of  a  flood.  A  torrent  of 
thought  rolled  away  from  his  brow  as  his  face  resumed  its 
ordinary  expression.  Perhaps  it  was  the  strangeness  of  this 
meeting,  or  perhaps  it  was  the  mystery  into  which  she  had 


HE    TURNED    HIS    HEAD    TOWARD    HIS    HOST'S    DAUGHTER. 


A    WOMAN   OF  THIRTY.  157 

penetrated,  that  held  the  young  girl  spellbound  in  the  door- 
way, so  that  she  could  look  at  a  face  pleasant  to  behold  and 
full  of  interest.  For  some  moments  she  stood  in  the  magical 
silence;  a  trouble  had  come  upon  her  never  known  before 
in  her  young  life.  Perhaps  some  exclamation  broke  from 
Helene,  perhaps  she  moved  unconsciously ;  or  it  may  be  that 
the  hunted  criminal  returned  of  his  own  accord  from  the 
world  of  ideas  to  the  material  world  and  heard  some  one 
breathing  in  the  room ;  however  it  was,  he  turned  his  head 
toward  his  host's  daughter  and  saw  dimly  in  the  shadow  a 
noble  face  and  queenly  form,  which  he  must  have  taken  for 
an  angel's,  so  motionless  she  stood,  so  vague  and  like  a  spirit. 

"Monsieur "  a  trembling  voice  cried. 

The  murderer  trembled. 

"  A  woman  !  "  he  cried  under  his  breath.  "  Is  it  possible  ? 
Go,"  he  cried ;  "  I  deny  that  any  one  has  a  right  to  pity,  to 
absolve,  or  condemn  me.  I  must  live  alone.  Go,  my  child," 
he  added,  with  an  imperious  gesture ;  "  I  should  ill  requite  the 
service  done  me  by  the  master  of  the  house  if  I  were  to  allow 
a  single  creature  under  his  roof  to  breathe  the  same  air  with 
me.  I  must  submit  to  be  judged  by  the  laws  of  the  world." 

The  last  words  were  uttered  in  a  lower  voice.  Even  as  he 
realized  with  a  profound  intuition  all  the  manifold  misery 
awakened  by  that  melancholy  thought,  the  glance  that  he 
gave  Helene  had  something  of  the  power  of  the  serpent,  stir- 
ring a  whole  dormant  world  in  the  mind  of  the  strange  girl 
before  him.  To  her  that  glance  was  like  a  light  revealing 
unknown  lands.  She  was  stricken  with  strange  trouble,  help- 
less, quelled  by  a  magnetic  power  exerted  unconsciously. 
Trembling  and  ashamed,  she  went  out  and  returned  to  the 
salon.  She  had  scarcely  entered  the  room  before  her  father 
came  back,  so  that  she  had  not  time  to  say  a  word  to  her 
mother. 

The  general  was  wholly  absorbed  in  thought.  He  folded 
his  arms,  and  paced  silently  to  and  fro  between  the  windows 


158  A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY. 

which  looked  out  upon  the  street  and  the  second  row  which 
gave  upon  the  garden.  His  wife  held  the  sleeping  Abel  on 
her  knee,  and  little  MoTna  lay  in  untroubled  slumber  in  the 
low  chair,  like  a  bird  in  its  nest.  Her  elder  sister  stared 
into  the  fire,  a  skein  of  silk  in  one  hand,  a  needle  in  the 
other. 

Deep  silence  prevailed,  broken  only  by  lagging  footsteps 
on  the  stairs,  as  one  by  one  the  servants  crept  away  to  bed  ; 
there  was  an  occasional  burst  of  stifled  laughter,  a  last  echo  of 
the  wedding  festivity,  or  doors  were  opened  as  they  still 
talked  among  themselves,  then  shut.  A  smothered  sound 
came  now  and  again  from  the  bedrooms,  a  chair  fell,  the  old 
coachman  coughed  feebly,  then  all  was  silent. 

In  a  little  while  the  dark  majesty  with  which  sleeping  earth 
is  invested  at  midnight  brought  all  things  under  its  sway. 
No  lights  shone  but  the  light  of  the  stars.  The  frost  gripped 
the  ground.  There  was  not  a  sound  of  a  voice,  nor  a  living 
creature  stirring.  The  crackling  of  the  fire  only  seemed  to 
make  the  depth  of  the  silence  more  fully  felt. 

The  church  clock  of  Montreuil  had  just  struck  one,  when 
an  almost  inaudible  sound  of  a  light  footstep  came  from  the 
second  flight  of  stairs.  The  marquis  and  his  daughter,  both 
believing  that  M.  de  Mauny's  murderer  was  a  prisoner  above, 
thought  that  one  of  the  maids  had  come  down,  and  no  one 
was  at  all  surprised  to  hear  the  door  open  in  the  antechamber. 
Quite  suddenly  the  murderer  appeared  in  their  midst.  The 
marquis  himself  was  sunk  in  deep  musings,  the  mother  and 
daughter  were  silent,  the  one  from  keen  curiosity,  the  other 
from  sheer  astonishment,  so  that  the  visitor  was  almost  half- 
way across  the  room  when  he  spoke  to  the  general. 

"Sir,  the  two  hours  are  almost  over,"  he  said,  in  a  voice 
that  was  strangely  calm  and  musical. 

"  You  here  /"  cried  the  general.     "By  what  means ?" 

and  he  gave  wife  and  daughter  a  formidable  questioning 
glance.  Helene  grew  red  as  fire. 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  159 

"You  !  "  he  went  on,  in  a  tone  filled  with  horror.  "You 
among  us  !  A  murderer  covered  with  blood  !  You  are  a  blot 
on  this  picture  !  Go,  go  out !  "  he  added  in  a  burst  of 
rage. 

At  that  word  "  murderer,"  the  marquise  cried  out;  as  for 
Helene,  it  seemed  to  mark  an  epoch  in  her  life,  there  was  not 
a  trace  of  surprise  in  her  face.  She  looked  as  if  she  had  been 
waiting  for  this — for  him.  Those  so  vast  thoughts  of  hers  had 
found  a  meaning.  The  punishment  reserved  by  heaven  for 
her  sins  flamed  out  before  her.  In  her  own  eyes  she  was  as 
great  a  criminal  as  this  murderer;  she  confronted  him  with 
her  quiet  gaze ;  she  was  his  fellow,  his  sister.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  in  this  accident  the  command  of  God  had  been  made 
manifest.  If  she  had  been  a  few  years  older,  reason  would 
have  disposed  of  her  remorse,  but  at  this  moment  she  was 
like  one  distraught. 

The  stranger  stood  impassive  and  self-possessed  ;  a  scornful 
smile  overspread  his  features  and  his  thick,  red  lips  were 
curled  ironically. 

"You  appreciate  the  magnanimity  of  my  behavior  very 
badly,"  he  said  slowly.  "  I  would  not  touch  with  my 
fingers  the  glass  of  water  you  brought  me  to  allay  my  thirst ; 
I  did  not  so  much  as  think  of  washing  my  blood-stained 
hands  under  your  roof;  I  am  going  away,  leaving  nothing  of 
my  crime"  (here  his  lips  were  compressed)  ' '  but  the  memory ; 
I  have  tried  to  leave  no  trace  of  my  presence  in  this  house. 
Indeed,  I  would  not  even  allow  your  daughter  to " 

"My  daughter  /"  cried  the  general,  with  a  horror-stricken 
glance  at  Helene.  "  Vile  wretch,  go,  or  I  will  kill  you " 

"The  two  hours  are  not  yet  over,"  said  the  other ;  "  if  you 
kill  me  or  give  me  up,  you  must  lower  yourself  in  your  own 
eyes — and  in  mine." 

At  these  last  words,  the  general  turned  to  stare  at  the  crimi- 
nal in  dumb  amazement ;  but  he  could  not  endure  the  intoler- 
able light  in  those  eyes  which  for  the  second  time  disorganized 


160  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

his  being.  He  was  afraid  of  showing  weakness  once  more, 
conscious  as  he  was  that  his  will  was  weaker  already. 

"An  old  man  !  You  can  never  have  seen  a  family,"  he 
said,  with  a  father's  glance  at  his  wife  and  children. 

"Yes,  an  old  man,"  echoed  the  stranger,  frowning  slightly. 

"Fly!  "  cried  the  general,  but  he  did  not  dare  to  look  at 
his  guest.  "Our  compact  is  broken.  I  shall  not  kill  you. 
No  !  I  will  never  be  purveyor  to  the  scaffold.  But  go  out. 
You  make  us  shudder." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  the  other  patiently.  "  There  is  not  a 
spot  on  French  soil  where  I  can  set  foot  and  be  safe ;  but  if 
man's  justice,  like  God's,  took  all  into  account,  if  man's  jus- 
tice deigned  to  inquire  which  was  the  monster — the  murderer 
or  his  victim — then  I  might  hold  up  my  head  among  my  fel- 
lows. Can  you  not  guess  that  other  crimes  preceded  that 
blow  from  an  axe?  I  constituted  myself  his  judge  and  exe- 
cutioner; I  stepped  in  where  man's  justice  failed.  That  was 
my  crime.  Farewell,  sir.  Bitter  though  you  have  made 
your  hospitality,  I  shall  not  forget  it.  I  shall  always  bear  in 
my  heart  a  feeling  of  gratitude  toward  one  man  in  the  world, 
and  you  are  that  man.  But  I  could  wish  that  you  had  showed 
yourself  more  generous  !  " 

He  turned  toward  the  door,  but  in  the  same  instant  Helena 
leaned  to  whisper  something  in  her  mother's  ear. 

"Ah  !  " 

At  the  cry  that  broke  from  his  wife,  the  general  trembled  as 
if  he  had  seen  MoTna  lying  dead.  There  stood  Helene,  and 
the  murderer  had  turned  instinctively,  with  something  like 
anxiety  about  these  folk  in  his  face. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  asked  the  general. 

"Helene  wants  to  go  with  him." 

The  murderer's  face  flushed. 

"  If  that  is  how  my  mother  understands  an  almost  involun- 
tary exclamation,"  Helene  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  will  fulfill 
her  wishes."  She  glanced  about  her  with  something  like 


A    WOMAN   OF  THIRTY.  161 

fierce  pride;  then  the  girl's  eyes  fell,  and  she  stood,  admirable 
in  her  modesty. 

"  Helene,  did  you  go  up  to  the  room  where ?  " 

"Yes,  father." 

"  Helene  "  (and  his  voice  shook  with  a  convulsive  tremor), 
"  is  this  the  first  time  that  you  have  seen  this  man  ?  " 

"Yes,  father." 

"Then  it  is  not  natural  that  you  should  intend  to " 

"  If  it  is  not  natural,  father,  at  any  rate  it  is  true." 

"Oh!  child,"  said  the  marquise,  lowering  her  voice,  but 
not  so  much  but  that  her  husband  could  hear  her,  "you  are 
false  to  all  the  principles  of  honor,  modesty,  and  right  which 
I  have  tried  to  cultivate  in  your  heart.  If  until  this  fatal  hour 
your  life  has  only  been  one  lie,  there  is  nothing  to  regret  in 
your  loss.  It  can  hardly  be  the  moral  perfection  of  this 
stranger  that  attracts  you  to  him?  Can  it  be  the  kind  of 
power  that  commits  crime  ?  I  have  too  good  an  opinion  of 
you  to  suppose  that " 

"  Oh,  suppose  everything,  madame,"  Helene  said  coldly. 

But  though  her  force  of  character  sustained  this  ordeal,  her 
flashing  eyes  could  scarcely  hold  the  tears  that  filled  them. 
The  stranger,  watching  her,  guessed  the  mother's  language 
from  the  girl's  tears,  and  turned  his  eagle  glance  upon  the 
marquise.  An  irresistible  power  constrained  her  to  look  at 
this  terrible  seducer;  but  as  her  eyes  met  his  bright,  glitter- 
ing gaze,  she  felt  a  shiver  run  through  her  frame,  such  a  shock 
as  we  feel  at  the  sight  of  a  reptile  or  the  contact  of  a  Leyden 
jar. 

"Dear!  "  she  cried,  turning  to  her  husband,  "this  is  the 
Fiend  himself!  He  can  divine  everything  !  " 

The  general  rose  to  his  feet  and  went  to  the  bell. 

"  He  means  ruin  for  you,"  Helene  said  to  the  murderer. 

The  stranger  smiled,  took  one  forward  stride,  grasped  the 
general's  arm,  and  compelled  him  to  endure  a  steady  gaze 
which  benumbed  the  soldier's  brain  and  left  him  powerless. 
11 


162  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

"  I  will  repay  you  now  for  your  hospitality,"  he  said,  "  and 
then  we  shall  be  quits.  I  will  spare  you  the  shame  by  giving 
myself  up.  After  all,  what  should  I  do  now  with  my  life?" 

"You  could  repent,"  answered  Helene,  and  her  glance  con- 
veyed such  hope  as  only  glows  in  a  young  girl's  eyes. 

" I shall  never  repent"  said  the  murderer  in  a  sonorous 
voice,  as  he  raised  his  head  proudly. 

"His  hands  are  stained  with  blood,"  the  father  said. 

"  I  will  wipe  it  away,"  she  answered. 

"  But  do  you  so  much  as  know  whether  he  cares  for  you  ?  " 
said  her  father,  not  daring  now  to  look  at  the  stranger. 

The  murderer  came  up  a  little  nearer.  Some  light  within 
seemed  to  glow  through  Helene's  beauty,  grave  and  maidenly 
though  it  was,  coloring  and  bringing  into  relief,  as  it  were, 
the  least  details,  the  most  delicate  lines  in  her  face.  The 
stranger,  with  that  terrible  fire  still  blazing  in  his  eyes,  gave 
one  tender  glance  to  her  enchanting  loveliness,  then  he  spoke, 
his  tones  revealing  how  deeply  he  had  been  moved. 

"And  if  I  refuse  to  allow  this  sacrifice  of  yourself,  and  so 
discharge  my  debt  of  two  hours  of  existence  to  your  father ; 
is  not  this  love,  love  for  yourself  alone  ?" 

"Then  do  you  too  reject  me?"  Helene's  cry  rang  pain- 
fully through  the  hearts  of  all  who  heard  her.  "Farewell, 
then,  to  you  all ;  I  will  die." 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  asked  the  father  and  mother. 

Helene  gave  her  mother  an  eloquent  glance  and  lowered  her 
eyes. 

Since  the  first  attempt  made  by  the  general  and  his  wife  to 
contest  by  word  or  action  the  intruder's  strange  presumption 
to  the  right  of  staying  in  their  midst,  from  their  first  experi- 
ence of  the  power  of  those  glittering  eyes,  a  mysterious  torpor 
had  crept  over  them,  and  their  benumbed  faculties  struggled 
in  vain  with  a  preternatural  influence.  The  air  seemed  to 
have  suddenly  grown  so  heavy  that  they  could  scarcely 
breathe ;  yet,  while  they  could  not  find  the  reason  of  this 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  163 

feeling  of  oppression,  a  voice  within  told  them  that  this  mag- 
netic presence  was  the  real  cause  of  their  helplessness.  In 
this  moral  agony,  it  flashed  across  the  general  that  he  must 
make  every  effort  to  overcome  this  influence  on  his  daughter's 
reeling  brain ;  he  caught  her  by  the  waist  and  drew  her  into 
the  embrasure  of  a  window,  as  far  as  possible  from  the  mur- 
derer. 

"Darling,"  he  murmured,  "if  some  wild  love  has  been 
suddenly  born  in  your  heart,  I  cannot  believe  that  you  have 
not  the  strength  of  soul  to  quell  the  mad  impulse ;  your  inno- 
cent life,  your  pure  and  dutiful  soul,  has  given  me  too  many 
proofs  of  your  character.  There  must  be  something  behind 
all  this.  Well,  this  heart  of  mine  is  full  of  indulgence,  you 
can  tell  everything  to  me ;  even  if  it  breaks,  dear  child,  I  can 
be  silent  about  my  grief,  and  keep  your  confession  a  secret. 
What  is  it  ?  Are  you  jealous  of  our  love  for  your  brothers  or 
your  little  sister  ?  Is  it  some  love  trouble  ?  Are  you  unhappy 
here  at  home  ?  Tell  me  about  it,  tell  me  the  reasons  that  urge 
you  to  leave  your  home,  to  rob  it  of  its  greatest  charm,  to 
leave  your  mother  and  brothers  and  your  little  sister?" 

"  I  am  in  love  with  no  one,  father,  and  jealous  of  no  one, 
not  even  of  your  friend  the  diplomatist,  Monsieur  de  Van- 
denesse." 

The  marquise  turned  pale;  her  daughter  saw  this,  and 
stopped  short. 

"  Sooner  or  later  I  must  live  under  some  man's  protection, 
must  I  not  ?" 

"That  is  true." 

"Do  we  ever  know,"  she  went  on,  "the  human  being  to 
whom  we  link  our  destinies?  Now,  I  believe  in  this  man." 

"Oh,  child,"  said  the  general,  raising  his  voice,  "you 
have  no  idea  of  all  the  misery  that  lies  in  stoie  for  you." 

"  I  am  thinking  of  his." 

"What  a  life  !  "  groaned  the  father. 

"A  woman's  life,"  the  girl  murmured. 


164  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

"You  have  a  great  knowledge  of  life!"  exclaimed  the 
marquise,  finding  speech  at  last. 

"  Madame,  my  answers  are  shaped  by  the  questions;  but  if 
you  desire  it,  I  will  speak  more  clearly." 

"  Speak  out,  my  child I  am  a  mother." 

Mother  and  daughter  looked  each  other  in  the  face,  and  the 
marquise  said  no  more.  At  last  she  said — 

"  Helene,  if  you  have  any  reproaches  to  make,  I  would 
rather  bear  them  than  see  you  go  away  with  a  man  from  whom 
the  whole  world  shrinks  in  horror." 

"  Then  you  see  yourself,  madame,  that  but  for  me  he  would 
be  quite  alone." 

"  That  will  do,  madame,"  the  general  cried  ;  "  we  have  but 
one  daughter  left  to  us  now,"  and  he  looked  at  Mo'ina,  who  slept 
on.  "  As  for  you,"  he  added,  turning  to  Helene,  "I  will  put 
you  in  a  convent." 

"So  be  it,  father,"  she  said,  in  calm  despair,  "I  shall  die 
there.  You  are  answerable  to  God  alone  for  my  life  and  for 
his  soul." 

A  deep,  sudden  silence  fell  after  those  words.  The  on- 
lookers during  this  strange  scene,  so  utterly  at  variance  with  all 
the  sentiments  of  ordinary  life,  shunned  each  other's  eloquent 
eyes. 

Suddenly  the  marquis  happened  to  glance  at  his  pistols. 
He  caught  up  one  of  them,  cocked  the  weapon,  and  pointed 
it  at  the  intruder.  At  the  click  of  firearms  the  other  turned 
his  piercing  gaze  full  upon  the  general ;  the  soldier's  arm 
slackened  indescribably  and  fell  heavily  to  his  side.  The 
pistol  dropped  to  the  floor. 

"Girl,  you  are  free,"  said  he,  exhausted  by  this  ghastly 
struggle.  "Kiss  your  mother,  if  she  will  let  you  kiss  her. 
For  my  own  part,  I  wish  never  to  see  nor  to  hear  of  you 
again." 

"  Helene,"  the  mother  began,  "  only  think  of  the  wretched 
life  before  you." 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  165 

A  sort  of  rattling  sound  came  from  the  intruder's  deep 
chest,  all  eyes  turned  to  him.  Disdain  was  plainly  visible  in 
his  face. 

The  general  rose  to  his  feet.  "  My  hospitality  has  cost  me 
dear,"  he  cried.  "Before  you  came  you  had  taken  an  old 
man's  life ;  now  you  are  dealing  a  deadly  blow  at  a  whole 
family.  Whatever  happens,  there  must  be  unhappiness  in  this 
house." 

"And  if  your  daughter  is  happy?"  asked  the  other,  gazing 
steadily  at  the  general. 

The  father  made  a  superhuman  effort  for  self-control.  "  If 
she  is  happy  with  you,"  he  said,  "she  is  not  worth  re- 
gretting." 

Helene  knelt  timidly  before  her  father. 

"Father,  I  love  and  revere  you,"  she  said,  "whether  you 
lavish  all  the  treasures  of  your  kindness  upon  me  or  make  me 
feel  to  the  full  the  rigor  of  disgrace.  But  I  entreat  that  your 
last  words  of  farewell  shall  not  be  words  of  anger." 

The  general  could  not  trust  himself  to  look  at  her.  The 
stranger  came  nearer ;  there  was  something  half-diabolical, 
half-divine  in  the  smile  that  he  gave  Helene. 

"Angel  of  pity,  you  that  do  not  shrink  in  horror  from  a 
murderer,  come,  since  you  persist  in  your  resolution  of  intrust- 
ing your  life  to  me." 

"Inconceivable  !  "  cried  her  father. 

The  marquise  looked  strangely  at  her  daughter,  opened  her 
arms,  and  Helene  fled  to  her  in  tears. 

"  Farewell,"  she  said ;  "  farewell,  mother !  "  The  stranger 
trembled  as  Helene,  undaunted,  made  sign  to  him  that  she 
was  ready.  She  kissed  her  father's  hand  ;  and,  as  if  perform- 
ing a  duty,  gave  a  hasty  kiss  to  MoVna  and  little  Abel,  then 
she  vanished  with  the  murderer. 

"Which  way  are  they  going?"  exclaimed  the  general,  lis- 
tening to  the  footsteps  of  the  two  fugitives.  "  Madame,"  he 
turned  to  his  wife,  "  I  think  I  must  be  dreaming ;  there  is 


166  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

some  mystery  behind  all  this,  I  do  not  understand  it ;  you 
must  know  what  it  means." 

The  marquise  shivered. 

"  For  some  time  past  your  daughter  has  grown  extraordi- 
narily romantic  and  strangely  high-flown  in  her  ideas.  In 
spite  of  the  pains  I  have  taken  to  combat  these  tendencies  in 
her  character " 

"This  will  not  do "  began  the  general;  but  fancying 

that  he  heard  footsteps  in  the  garden,  he  broke  off  to  fling 
open  the  window. 

"  Helene!  "  he  shouted. 

His  voice  was  lost  in  the  darkness  like  a  vain  prophecy. 
The  utterance  of  that  name,  to  which  there  should  never  be 
answer  any  more,  acted  like  a  counter-spell ;  it  broke  the 
charm  and  set  him  free  from  the  evil  enchantment  which  lay 
upon  him.  It  was  as  if  some  spirit  passed  over  his  face.  He 
now  saw  clearly  what  had  taken  place,  and  cursed  his  incom- 
prehensible weakness.  A  shiver  of  heat  rushed  from  his  heart 
to  his  head  and  feet ;  he  became  himself  once  more,  terrible, 
thirsting  for  revenge.  He  raised  a  dreadful  cry. 

"  Help  !  "  he  thundered ;  "  help  !  " 

He  rushed  to  the  bell-pull,  pulled  till  the  bells  rang  with  a 
strange  clamor  of  din,  pulled  till  the  cord  gave  way.  The 
whole  house  was  roused  with  a  start.  Still  shouting,  he  flung 
open  the  windows  that  looked  upon  the  street,  called  for  the 
police,  caught  up  his  pistols,  and  fired  them  off  to  hurry  the 
mounted  patrols,  the  newly  aroused  servants,  and  the  neigh- 
bors. The  dogs  barked  at  the  sound  of  their  master's  voice  ; 
the  horses  neighed  and  stamped  in  their  stalls.  The  quiet 
night  was  suddenly  filled  with  hideous  uproar.  The  general 
on  the  staircase,  in  pursuit  of  his  daughter,  saw  the  scared 
faces  of  the  servants  flocking  from  all  parts  of  the  house. 

"  My  daughter  !  "  he  shouted.  "  Helene  has  been  carried 
off.  Search  the  garden  !  Keep  a  lookout  on  the  road  ! 
Open  the  gates  for  the  gendarmerie  !  Murder  !  Help  !  " 


A    WOMAN  OF   7'HIRTY.  167 

With  the  strength  of  fury  he  snapped  the  chain  and  let 
loose  the  great  house-dog. 

"Helene!"  he  cried  ;  "  Helene  !  " 

The  dog  sprang  out  like  a  lion,  barking  furiously,  and 
dashed  into  the  garden,  leaving  the  general  far  behind.  A 
troop  of  horse  came  along  the  road  at  a  gallop,  and  he  flew 
to  open  the  gates  himself. 

"  Corporal  !  "  he  shouted,  "  cut  off  the  retreat  of  Monsieur 
de  Mauny's  murderer.  They  have  gone  through  my  garden. 
Quick  !  Put  a  cordon  of  men  to  watch  the  ways  by  the  Butte 
de  Picardie.  I  will  beat  up  the  grounds,  parks,  and  houses. 
The  rest  of  you  keep  a  lookout  along  the  road,"  he  ordered 
the  servants ;  "  form  a  chain  between  the  barrier  and  Ver- 
sailles. Forward,  every  man  of  you  !  " 

He  caught  up  the  rifle  which  his  man  had  brought  out,  and 
dashed  into  the  garden. 

"  Find  them  !  "  he  called  to  the  dog. 

An  ominous  baying  came  in  answer  from  the  distance,  and 
he  plunged  in  the  direction  from  which  the  growl  seemed  to 
come. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning ;  all  the  search  made 
by  gendarmes,  servants,  and  neighbors  had  been  fruitless,  and 
the  dog  had  not  come  back.  The  general  entered  the  salon, 
empty  now  for  him  though  the  other  three  children  were 
there ;  he  was  worn  out  with  fatigue,  and  looked  old  already 
with  that  night's  work. 

"You  have  been  very  cold  to  your  daughter,"  he  said, 
turning  his  eyes  on  his  wife.  "And  now  this  is  all  that  is 
left  to  us  of  her,"  he  added,  indicating  the  embroidery  frame, 
and  the  flower  just  begun.  "Only  just  now  she  was  there, 
and  now  she  is  lost lost !  " 

Tears  followed ;  he  hid  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  for  a  few 
minutes  he  said  no  more ;  he  could  not  bear  the  sight  of  the 
room,  which  so  short  a  time  ago  had  made  a  setting  to  a  pic- 
ture of  the  sweetest  family  happiness.  The  winter  dawn  was 


168  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

struggling  with  the  dying  lamplight ;  the  tapers  burned  down 
to  their  paper-wreaths  and  flared  out ;  everything  was  all  in 
keeping  with  the  father's  despair. 

"This  must  be  destroyed,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  pointing 
to  the  tambour-frame.  "  I  shall  never  bear  to  see  anything 
again  that  reminds  us  of  her.'" 

The  terrible  Christmas  night  when  the  marquis  and  his  wife 
lost  their  oldest  daughter,  powerless  to  oppose  the  mysterious 
influence  exercised  by  the  man  who  involuntarily,  as  it  were, 
stole  Helene  from  them,  was  like  a  warning  sent  by  Fate. 
The  marquis  was  ruined  by  the  failure  of  his  stockbroker ;  he 
borrowed  money  on  his  wife's  property,  and  lost  it  in  the 
endeavor  to  retrieve  his  fortunes.  Driven  to  desperate  expe- 
dients, he  left  France.  Six  years  went  by.  His  family  seldom 
had  news  of  him ;  but  a  few  days  before  Spain  recognized  the 
independence  of  the  American  Republics,  he  wrote  that  he 
was  coming  home. 

So,  one  fine  morning,  it  happened  that  several  French 
merchants  were  on  board  a  Spanish  brig  that  lay  a  few  leagues 
out  from  Bordeaux,  impatient  to  reach  their  native  land  again, 
with  wealth  acquired  by  long  years  of  toil  and  perilous  adven- 
tures in  Venezuela  and  Mexico. 

One  of  the  passengers,  a  man  who  looked  aged  by  trouble 
rather  than  by  years,  was  leaning  against  the  bulwark  netting, 
apparently  quite  unaffected  by  the  sight  to  be  seen  from  the 
upper  deck.  The  bright  day,  the  sense  that  the  voyage  was 
safely  over,  had  brought  all  the  passengers  above  to  greet  their 
native  land.  The  larger  number  of  them  insisted  that  they 
could  see,  far  off  in  the  distance,  the  houses  and  lighthouses 
on  the  coast  of  Gascony  and  the  Tower  of  Cordouan,  melting 
into  the  fantastic  erections  of  white  cloud  along  the  horizon. 
But  for  the  silver  fringe  that  played  about  their  bows  and  the 
long  furrow  swiftly  effaced  in  their  wake,  they  might  have 
been  perfectly  still  in  mid-ocean,  so  calm  was  the  sea.  The 
sky  was  magically  clear,  the  dark  blue  of  the  vault  above 


A   WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  169 

paled  by  imperceptible  gradations,  until  it  blended  with  the 
bluish  water,  a  gleaming  line  that  sparkled  like  stars  marking 
the  dividing  line  of  sea.  The  sunlight  caught  myriads  of 
facets  over  the  wide  surface  of  the  ocean,  in  such  a  sort  that 
the  vast  plain  of  salt  water  looked  perhaps  more  full  of  light 
than  the  fields  of  sky. 

]  The  brig  had  set  all  her  canvas.  The  snowy  sails,  swelled 
by  the  strangely  soft  wind,  the  labyrinth  of  cordage,  and  the 
yellow  flags  flying  at  the  masthead,  all  stood  out  sharp  and 
uncompromisingly  clear  against  the  vivid  background  of  space, 
sky,  and  sea;  there  was  nothing  to  alter  the  color  but  the 
shadow  cast  by  the  great  cloudlike  sails. 

A  glorious  day,  a  fair  wind,  and  the  fatherland  in  sight,  a 
sea  like  a  mill-pond,  the  melancholy  sound  of  the  ripples,  a 
fair  solitary  vessel,  gliding  across  the  surface  of  the  water  like 
a  woman  stealing  out  to  a  tryst — it  was  a  picture  full  of  har- 
mony. That  mere  speck  full  of  movement  was  a  starting-point 
whence  the  soul  of  man  could  descry  the  immutable  vastness 
of  space.  Solitude  and  bustling  life,  silence  and  sound,  were 
all  brought  together  in  strange  abrupt  contrast ;  you  could  not 
tell  where  life,  or  sound,  or  silence,  and  nothingness  lay,  and 
no  human  voice  broke  the  divine  spell. 

The  Spanish  captain,  the  crew,  and  the  French  passengers 
sat  or  stood  in  a  mood  of  devout  ecstasy,  in  which  many 
memories  blended.  There  was  idleness  in  the  air.  The 
beaming  faces  told  of  complete  forgetfulness  of  past  hard- 
ships, the  men  were  rocked  on  the  fair  vessel  as  in  a  golden 
dream.  Yet,  from  time  to  time  the  elderly  passenger,  leaning 
over  the  bulwark  nettings,  looked  with  something  like  uneasi- 
ness at  the  horizon.  Distrust  of  the  ways  of  Fate  could  be  read 
in  his  whole  face  ;  he  seemed  to  fear  that  he  should  not  reach 
the  coast  of  France  in  time.  This  was  the  marquis.  Fortune 
had  not  been  deaf  to  his  despairing  cry  and  struggles.  After 
five  years  of  endeavor  and  painful  toil,  he  was  a  wealthy  man 
once  more.  In  his  impatience  to  reach  his  home  again  and 


170  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

to  bring  the  good  news  to  his  family,  he  had  followed  the 
example  set  by  some  French  merchants  in  Havana,  and  em- 
barked with  them  on  a  Spanish  vessel  with  a  cargo  for  Bor- 
deaux. And  now,  grown  tired  of  evil  forebodings,  his  fancy 
was  tracing  out  for  him  the  most  delicious  pictures  of  past 
happiness.  In  that  far-off  brown  line  of  land  he  seemed  to 
see  his  wife  and  children.  He  sat  in  his  place  by  the  fireside ; 
they  were  crowding  about  him  ;  he  felt  their  caresses.  Mo'fna 
had  grown  to  be  young  girl ;  she  was  beautiful,  and  tall,  and 
striking.  The  fancied  picture  had  grown  almost  real,  when 
the  tears  filled  his  eyes,  and,  to  hide  his  emotion,  he  turned 
his  face  toward  the  sea-line,  opposite  the  hazy  streak  that 
meant  land. 

"There  she  is  again She  is  following  us !  "  he  said. 

"What?"  cried  the  Spanish  captain. 

"There  is  a  vessel,"  muttered  the  general. 

"I  saw  her  yesterday,"  answered  Captain  Gomez.  He 
looked  at  his  interlocutor  as  if  to  ask  what  he  thought ;  then 
he  added,  in  the  general's  ear,  "  She  has  been  chasing  us  all 
along." 

"Then  why  she  has  not  come  up  with  us,  I  do  not  know," 
said  the  general,  "for  she  is  a  faster  sailer  than  your  damned 
Saint-Ferdinand." 

"  She  will  have  damaged  herself,  sprung  a  leak " 

"  She  is  gaining  on  us  !  "  the  general  broke  in. 

"  She  is  a  Colombian  privateer,"  the  captain  said  in  his 
ear,  "  and  we  are  still  six  leagues  from  land,  and  the  wind  is 
dropping." 

"She  is  not  going  ahead,  she  is  flying,  as  if  she  knew  that 
in  two  hours'  time  her  prey  would  escape  her.  What 
audacity !  " 

"Audacity  !  "  cried  the  captain.  "Oh  !  she  is  not  called 
the  Othello  for  nothing.  Not  so  long  back  she  sank  a  Spanish 
frigate  that  carried  thirty  guns  !  This  is  the  one  thing  I  was 
afraid  of,  for  I  had  a  notion  that  she  was  cruising  about  some- 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  171 

where  off  the  Antilles.  Aha!  "  he  added  after  a  pause,  as 
he  watched  the  sails  of  his  own  vessel,  "  the  wind  is  rising; 
we  are  making  away.  Get  through  we  must,  for  '  the  Parisian  ' 
will  show  us  no  mercy." 

"  She  is  making  way,  too  !  "  returned  the  general. 

The  Othello  was  scarce  three  leagues  away  by  this  time  ;  and 
although  the  conversation  between  the  marquis  and  Captain 
Gomez  had  taken  place  apart,  passengers  and  crew,  attracted 
by  the  sudden  appearance  of  a  sail,  came  to  that  side  of  the 
vessel.  With  scarcely  an  exception,  however,  they  took  the 
privateer  for  a  merchantman,  and  watched  her  course  with 
interest,  till  at  once  a  sailor  shouted  with  some  energy  of 
language — 

"  By  Saint-Jacques,  it  is  all  up  with  us !  Yonder  is  the 
Parisian  captain  !  " 

At  that  terrible  name  dismay,  and  a  panic  impossible  to 
describe,  spread  through  the  brig.  The  Spanish  captain's 
orders  put  energy  into  the  crew  for  a  while  ;  and  in  his  reso- 
lute determination  to  make  land  at  all  costs,  he  set  all  the 
studding  sails  and  crowded  on  every  stitch  of  canvas  on 
board.  But  all  this  was  not  the  work  of  a  moment ;  and 
naturally  the  men  did  not  work  together  with  that  wonderful 
unanimity  so  fascinating  to  watch  on  board  a  man-of-war. 
The  Othello  meanwhile,  thanks  to  the  trimming  of  her  sails, 
flew  over  the  water  like  a  swallow ;  but  she  was  making,  to  all 
appearance,  so  little  headway,  that  the  unlucky  Frenchman 
began  to  entertain  sweet  delusive  hopes.  At  last,  after  un- 
heard-of efforts,  the  Saint-Ferdinand  sprang  forward,  Gomez 
himself  directing  the  shifting  of  the  sheets  with  voice  and 
gesture,  when  all  at  once  the  man  at  the  tiller,  steering  at 
random  (purposely,  no  doubt),  swung  the  vessel  round.  The 
wind  striking  athwart  the  beam,  the  sails  shivered  so  unex- 
pectedly that  the  brig  heeled  to  one  side,  the  booms  were 
carried  away,  and  the  vessel  was  completely  out  of  hand. 
The  captain's  face  grew  whiter  than  his  sails  with  unutterable 


172  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

rage.  He  sprang  upon  the  man  at  the  tiller,  drove  his  dagger 
at  him  in  such  blind  fury,  that  he  missed  him,  and  hurled  the 
weapon  overboard.  Gomez  took  the  helm  himself,  and  strove 
to  right  the  gallant  vessel.  Tears  of  despair  rose  to  his  eyes, 
for  it  is  harder  to  lose  the  result  of  our  carefully  laid  plans 
through  treachery  than  to  face  imminent  death.  But  the 
more  the  captain  swore,  the  less  the  men  worked,  and  it  was 
he  himself  who  fired  the  alarm-gun,  hoping  to  be  heard  on 
shore.  The  privateer,  now  gaining  hopelessly  upon  them,  re- 
plied with  a  cannon-shot,  which  struck  the  water  ten  fathoms 
away  from  the  Saint-Ferdinand. 

"Thunder  of  heaven  !"  cried  the  general,  "that  was  a 
close  shave  !  They  must  have  guns  made  on  purpose." 

"Oh  !  when  that  one  yonder  speaks,  look  you,  you  have  to 
hold  your  tongue,"  said  a  sailor.  "The  Parisian  would  not 
be  afraid  to  meet  an  English  man-of-war." 

"  It  is  all  over  with  us,"  the  captain  cried  in  desperation  ; 
he  had  pointed  his  telescope  landward,  and  saw  not  a  sign 
from  the  shore.  "We  are  further  from  the  coast  than  I 
thought." 

"Why  do  you  despair?"  asked  the  general.  "All  your 
passengers  are  Frenchmen  ;  they  have  chartered  your  vessel. 
The  privateer  is  a  Parisian,  you  say?  Well  and  good,  run  up 
the  white  flag,  and " 

"  And  he  would  run  us  down,"  retorted  the  captain.  "  He 
can  be  anything  he  likes  when  he  has  a  mind  to  seize  on  a 
rich  booty !  " 

"  Oh  !  if  he  is  a  pirate " 

"Pirate!"  said  the  ferocious-looking  sailor.  "Oh!  he 
always  has  the  law  on  his  side,  or  he  knows  how  to  be  on  the 
same  side  as  the  law." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  general,  raising  his  eyes,  "let  us 
make  up  our  minds  to  it,"  and  his  remaining  fortitude  was 
still  sufficient  to  keep  back  the  tears. 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  before  a  second 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  173 

cannon-shot,  better  aimed  came  crashing  through  the  hull  of 
the  Saint-Ferdinand. 

"Heave  to  !  "  cried  the  captain  gloomily. 
The  sailor  who  had  commended  the  Parisian's  law-abiding 
proclivities  showed  himself  a  clever  hand  at  working  a  ship 
after  this  desperate  order  was  given.  The  crew  waited  for 
half  an  hour  in  an  agony  of  suspense  and  the  deepest  dismay. 
The  Saint-Ferdinand  had  four  millions  of  piastres  on  board, 
the  whole  fortunes  of  the  five  passengers,  and  the  general's 
eleven  hundred  thousand  francs.  At  length  the  Othello  lay 
not  ten  gunshots  away,  so  that  those  on  the  Saint-Ferdinand 
could  look  into  the  muzzles  of  her  loaded  guns.  The  vessel 
seemed  to  be  borne  along  by  a  breeze  sent  by  the  devil  him- 
self, but  the  eyes  of  an  expert  would  have  discovered  the 
secret  of  her  speed  at  once.  You  had  but  to  look  for  a 
moment  at  the  rake  of  her  stern,  her  long,  narrow  keel,  her 
tall  masts,  to  see  the  cut  of  her  sails,  the  wonderful  lightness 
of  her  rigging,  and  the  ease  and  perfect  seamanship  with 
which  her  crew  trimmed  her  sails  to  the  wind.  Everything 
about  her  gave  the  impression  of  the  security  of  power  in  this 
delicately  curved  inanimate  creature,  swift  and  intelligent  as 
a  greyhound  or  some  bird  of  prey.  The  privateer  crew  stood 
silent,  ready  in  case  of  resistance  to  shatter  the  wretched 
merchantman,  which,  luckily  for  her,  remained  motionless, 
like  a  schoolboy  caught  in  the  act  of  doing  wrong  by  a  master. 

"We  have  guns  on  board!  "cried  the  general,  clutching 
the  Spanish  captain's  hand.  But  the  courage  in  Gomez's 
eyes  was  the  courage  of  despair. 

"  Have  we  men  ?  "  he  said. 

The  marquis  looked  round  at  the  crew  of  the  Saint  Ferdi- 
nand, and  a  cold  chill  ran  through  him.  There  stood  the 
four  merchants,  pale  and  quaking  for  fear,  while  the  crew 
gathered  about  some  of  their  own  number  who  appeared  to  be 
arranging  to  go  over  in  a  body  to  the  enemy.  They  watched 
the  Othello  with  greed  and  curiosity  on  their  faces.  The  cap- 


174  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

tain,  the  marquis,  and  the  mate  exchanged  glances ;  they 
were  the  only  three  who  had  a  thought  for  any  but  them- 
selves. 

"  Ah  !  Captain  Gomez,  when  I  left  my  home  and  country, 
my  heart  was  half  dead  with  the  bitterness  of  parting,  and  now 
must  I  bid  it  good-by  once  more  when  I  am  bringing  back 
happiness  and  ease  for  my  children  ?  " 

The  general  turned  his  head  away  toward  the  sea  with  tears 
of  rage  in  his  eyes — and  saw  the  steersman  swimming  out  to 
the  privateer. 

"  This  time  it  will  be  good-by  for  good,"  said  the  captain 
by  way  of  answer,  and  the  dazed  look  in  the  Spaniard's 
eyes  startled  the  Frenchman. 

By  this  time  the  two  vessels  were  almost  alongside,  and  at 
the  first  sight  of  the  enemy's  crew  the  general  saw  that 
Gomez's  gloomy  prophecy  was  only  too  true.  The  three  men 
at  each  gun  might  have  been  bronze  statues,  standing  like 
athletes,  with  their  rugged  features,  their  bare,  sinewy  arms, 
strong  men  whom  Death  himself  had  scarcely  thrown  off  their 
feet. 

The  rest  of  the  crew,  well  armed,  active,  light,  and  vigor- 
ous, also  stood  motionless.  Toil  had  hardened  and  the  sun 
had  deeply  tanned  those  energetic  faces ;  their  eyes  glittered 
like  sparks  of  fire  with  infernal  glee  and  clear-sighted  courage. 
Perfect  silence  on  the  upper  deck,  now  black  with  men,  bore 
abundant  testimony  to  the  rigorous  discipline  and  strong  will 
which  held  these  fiends  incarnate  in  check. 

The  captain  of  the  Othello  stood  with  folded  arms  at  the 
foot  of  the  mainmast ;  he  carried  no  weapons,  but  an  axe  lay 
on  the  deck  beside  him.  His  face  was  hidden  by  the  shadow 
of  a  broad,  felt  hat.  The  men  looked  like  dogs  crouching 
before  their  master.  Gunners,  soldiers,  and  ship's  crew 
turned  their  eyes  first  on  his  face  and  then  on  the  merchant 
vessel. 

The  two  brigs  came  up  alongside,  and  the  shock  of  contact 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  175 

roused  the  privateer  captain  from  his  musings ;  he  spoke  a 
word  in  the  ear  of  the  lieutenant  who  stood  beside  him. 

"Grappling  irons!"  shouted  the  latter,  and  the  Othello 
grappled  the  Saint-Ferdinand  with  miraculous  quickness. 
The  captain  of  the  privateer  gave  his  orders  in  a  low  voice 
to  the  lieutenant,  who  repeated  them ;  the  men,  told  off  in 
succession  for  each  duty,  went  on  the  upper  deck  of  the  Saint- 
Ferdinand,  like  seminarists  going  to  mass.  They  bound  crew 
and  passengers  hand  and  foot  and  seized  the  booty.  In  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  provisions  and  barrels  full  of  piastres 
were  transferred  to  the  Othello ;  the  general  thought  that  he 
must  be  dreaming  when  he  himself,  likewise  bound,  was  flung 
down  on  a  bale  of  goods  as  if  he  had  been  part  of  the  cargo. 

A  brief  conference  took  place  between  the  captain  of  the 
privateer  and  his  lieutenant  and  a  sailor,  who  seemed  to  be 
the  mate  of  the  vessel ;  then  the  mate  gave  a  whistle,  and  the 
men  jumped  on  board  the  Saint-Ferdinand  and  completely 
dismantled  her  with  the  nimble  dexterity  of  a  soldier  who 
strips  a  dead  comrade  of  a  coveted  overcoat  and  shoes. 

"It  is  all  over  with  us,"  said  the  Spanish  captain  coolly. 
He  had  eyed  the  three  chiefs  during  their  confabulation,  and 
saw  that  the  sailors  were  proceeding  to  pull  his  vessel  to 
pieces. 

"  Why  so? "  asked  the  general. 

"What  would  you  have  them  do  with  us?"  returned  the 
Spaniard.  "They  have  just  come  to  the  conclusion  that  they 
will  scarcely  sell  the  Saint-Ferdinand  in  any  French  or  Spanish 
port,  so  they  are  going  to  sink  her  to  be  rid  of  her.  And  as 
for  us,  do  you  suppose  that  they  will  put  themselves  to  the 
expense  of  feeding  us,  when  they  don't  know  what  port  they 
are  to  put  into?" 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  the  captain's  mouth  before  a 
hideous  outcry  went  up,  followed  by  a  dull  splashing  sound, 
as  several  bodies  were  thrown  overboard.  He  turned,  the 
four  merchants  were  no  longer  to  be  seen,  but  eight  ferocious- 


176  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

looking  gunners  were  still  standing  with  their  arms  raised 
above  their  heads.  He  shuddered. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  the  Spanish  captain  asked  very 
coolly. 

The  marquis  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  spring.  The  surface  of 
the  sea  was  quite  smooth  again ;  he  could  not  so  much  as  see 
the  place  where  his  unhappy  fellow-passengers  had  disappeared. 
By  this  time  they  were  sinking  down,  bound  hand  and  foot, 
below  the  waves,  if,  indeed,  the  fish  had  not  devoured  them 
already. 

Only  a  few  paces  away,  the  treacherous  steersman  and  the 
sailor  who  had  boasted  of  the  Parisian's  power  were  fraterniz- 
ing with  the  crew  of  the  Othello,  and  pointing  out  those 
among  their  own  number  who,  in  their  opinion,  were  worthy 
to  join  the  crew  of  the  privateer.  Then  the  boys  tied  the  rest 
together  by  the  feet  in  spite  of  frightful  oaths.  It  was  soon 
over;  the  eight  gunners  seized  the  doomed  men  and  flung 
them  overboard  without  more  ado,  watching  the  different 
ways  in  which  the  drowning  victims  met  their  death,  their 
contortions,  their  last  agony,  with  a  sort  of  malignant  curi- 
osity, but  with  no  sign  of  amusement,  surprise,  or  pity.  For 
them  it  was  an  ordinary  event  to  which  seemingly  they  were 
quite  accustomed.  The  older  men  looked  instead  with  grim, 
set  smiles  at  the  casks  of  piastres  about  the  mainmast. 

The  general  and  Captain  Gomez,  left  seated  on  a  bale  of 
goods,  consulted  each  other  with  well-nigh  hopeless  looks;  they 
were,  in  a  sense,  the  sole  survivors  of  the  Saint-Ferdinand,  for 
the  seven  men  pointed  out  by  the  spies  were  transformed  amid 
rejoicings  into  Peruvians. 

"What  atrocious  villains!  "  the  general  cried.  Loyal  and 
generous  indignation  silenced  prudence  and  pain  on  his  own 
account. 

"They  do  it  because  they  must,"  Captain  Gomez  answered 
coolly.  "  If  you  came  across  one  of  those  fellows,  you  would 
run  him  through  the  body,  would  you  not?" 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  177 

The  lieutenant  now  came  up  to  the  Spaniard. 

"Captain,"  said  he,  "the  Parisian  has  heard  of  you.  He 
says  that  you  are  the  only  man  who  really  knows  the  passages 
of  the  Antilles  and  the  Brazilian  coast.  Will  you — 

The  captain  cut  him  sort  with  a  scornful  exclamation. 

"I  shall  die  like  a  sailor,"  he  said,  "and  a  loyal  Spaniard 
and  a  Christian.  Do  you  hear?" 

"Heave  him  overboard,"  shouted  the  lieutenant,  and  a 
couple  of  gunners  seized  on  Gomez. 

"You  cowards  !  "  roared  the  general,  seizing  hold  of  the 
men. 

"Don't  get  too  excited,  old  boy,"  said  the  lieutenant. 
"  If  your  red  ribbon  has  made  some  impression  upon  our  cap- 
tain, I  myself  do  not  care  a  rap  for  it.  You  and  I  will  have 
our  little  bit  of  talk  together  directly." 

A  smothered  sound,  with  no  accompanying  cry,  told  the 
general  that  the  gallant  captain  had  died  "like  a  sailor,"  as 
he  had  said. 

"  My  money  or  death  !  "  cried  the  marquis,  in  a  fit  of  rage 
terrible  to  see. 

"Ah!  now  you  talk  sensibly!"  sneered  the  lieutenant. 
"  That  is  the  way  to  get  something  out  of  us " 

Two  of  the  men  came  up  at  a  sign  and  hastened  to  bind 
the  Frenchman's  feet,  but  with  unlooked-for  boldness  he 
snatched  the  lieutenant's  cutlass  and  laid  about  him  like  a 
cavalry  officer  who  knows  his  business. 

"  Brigands  that  you  are  !  You  shall  not  chuck  one  of  Na- 
poleon's old  troopers  over  a  ship's  side  like  an  oyster !  " 

At  the  sound  of  pistol-shots  fired  point-blank  at  the  French- 
man, "the  Parisian"  looked  round  from  his  occupation  of 
superintending  the  transfer  of  the  rigging  from  the  Saint- 
Ferdinand.  He  came  up  behind  the  brave  general,  seized 
him,  dragged  him  to  the  side,  and  was  about  to  fling  him 
over  with  no  more  concern  than  if  the  man  had  been  a 
broken  spar.  They  were  at  the  very  edge  when  the  general 
12 


178  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

looked  into  the  tawny  eyes  of  the  man  who  had  stolen  his 
daughter.  The  recognition  was  mutual. 

The  captain  of  the  privateer,  his  arm  still  upraised,  suddenly 
swung  it  in  the  contrary  direction  as  if  his  victim  was  but  a 
feather  weight,  and  set  him  down  at  the  foot  of  the  main- 
mast. A  murmur  rose  on  the  upper  deck,  but  the  captain 
glanced  round,  and  there  was  a  sudden  silence. 

"This  is  Helene's  father,"  said  the  captain  in  a  clear,  firm 
voice.  "  Woe  to  any  one  who  meddles  with  him  !  " 

A  hurrah  of  joy  went  up  at  the  words,  a  shout  rising  to  the 
sky  like  a  prayer  of  the  church ;  a  cry  like  the  first  high-notes 
of  the  Te  Deum.  The  lads  swung  aloft  in  the  rigging,  the 
men  below  flung  up  their  caps,  the  gunners  pounded  away  on 
the  deck,  there  was  a  general  thrill  of  excitement,  an  outburst 
of  oaths,  yells,  and  shrill  cries  in  voluble  chorus.  The  men 
cheered  like  fanatics,  the  general's  misgivings  deepened,  and 
he  grew  uneasy ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  there  was  some  hor- 
rible mystery  in  such  wild  transports. 

"My  daughter!"  he  cried,  as  soon  as  he  could  speak. 
"  Where  is  my  daughter?  " 

For  all  answer,  the  captain  of  the  privateer  gave  him  a 
searching  glance,  one  of  those  glances  which  throw  the  bravest 
men  into  a  confusion  which  no  theory  can  explain.  The 
general  was  mute,  not  a  little  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  crew ; 
it  pleased  them  to  see  their  leader  exercise  the  strange  power 
which  he  possessed  over  all  with  whom  he  came  in  contact. 
Then  the  captain  led  the  way  down  a  staircase  and  flung  open 
the  door  of  a  cabin. 

"There  she  is,"  he  said,  and  disappeared,  leaving  the 
general  in  a  stupor  of  bewilderment  at  the  scene  before  his 
eyes. 

Helene  cried  out  at  the  sight  of  him,  and  sprang  up  from 
the  sofa  on  which  she  was  lying  when  the  door  flew  open.  So 
changed  was  she  that  none  but  a  father's  eyes  could  have 
recognized  her.  The  sun  of  the  tropics  had  brought  warmer 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  179 

tones  into  the  once  pale  face,  and  something  of  Oriental 
charm  with  that  wonderful  coloring ;  there  was  a  certain  gran- 
deur about  her,  a  majestic  firmness,  a  profound  sentiment 
which  impresses  itself  upon  the  coarsest  nature.  Her  long, 
thick  hair,  falling  in  large  curls  about  her  queenly  throat, 
gave  an  added  idea  of  power  to  the  proud  face.  The  con- 
sciousness of  that  power  shone  out  from  every  movement, 
every  line  of  Helene's  form.  The  rose-tinted  nostrils  were 
dilated  slightly  with  the  joy  of  triumph  ;  the  serene  happiness 
of  her  life  had  left  its  plain  tokens  in  the  full  development  of 
her  beauty.  A  certain  indefinable  virginal  grace  met  in  her 
with  the  pride  of  a  woman  who  is  loved.  This  was  a  slave 
and  a  queen,  a  queen  who  would  fain  obey  that  she  might 
reign. 

Her  dress  was  magnificent  and  elegant  in  its  richness ;  India 
muslin  was  the  sole  material,  but  her  sofa  and  cushions  were 
of  cashmere.  A  Persian  carpet  covered  the  floor  in  the  large 
cabin,  and  her  four  children  playing  at  her  feet  were  building 
castles  of  gems  and  pearl  necklaces  and  jewels  of  price.  The 
air  was  full  of  the  scent  of  rare  flowers  in  Sevres  porcelain 
vases  painted  by  Mme.  Jacotot ;  tiny  South  American  birds, 
like  living  rubies,  sapphires,  and  gold,  hovered  among  the 
Mexican  jessamines  and  camellias.  A  pianforte  had  been 
fitted  into  the  room,  and  here  and  there  on  the  paneled 
walls,  covered  with  red  silk,  hung  small  pictures  by  great 
painters — a  Sunset  by  Hippolyte  Schinner  beside  a  Terburg, 
one  of  Raphael's  Madonnas  scarcely  yielded  in  charm  to  a 
sketch  by  Gericault,  while  a  Gerard  Dow  eclipsed  the  painters 
of  the  Empire.  On  a  lacquered  table  stood  a  golden  plate 
full  of  delicious  fruit.  Indeed,  Helene  might  have  been  the 
sovereign  lady  of  some  great  country,  and  this  cabin  of  hers  a 
boudoir  in  which  her  crowned  lover  had  brought  together  all 
earth's  treasures  to  please  his  consort.  The  children  gazed 
with  bright,  keen  eyes  at  their  grandfather.  Accustomed  as 
they  were  to  a  life  of  battle,  storm,  and  tumult,  they  recalled 


180  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

the  Roman  children  in  David's  Brutus,  watching  the  fighting 
and  bloodshed  with  curious  interest. 

"  What !  is  it  possible  ?  "  cried  Helene,  catching  her  father's 
arm  as  if  to  assure  herself  that  this  was  no  vision. 

"Helene!" 

"Father!" 

They  fell  into  each  other's  arms,  and  the  old  man's  em- 
brace was  not  so  close  and  warm  as  Helene's. 

"  Were  you  on  board  that  vessel  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  answered  sadly,  and  looking  at  the  little  ones, 
who  gathered  about  him  and  gazed  with  wide-open  eyes. 

"I  was  about  to  perish,  but " 

"But  for  my  husband,"  she  broke  in.     "I  see  how  it  was." 

"Ah!"  cried  the  general,  "why  must  I  find  you  again 
like  this,  Helene  ?  After  all  the  many  tears  that  I  have  shed, 
must  I  still  groan  for  your  fate?  " 

"And  why?"  she  asked  smiling.  "Why  should  you  be 
sorry  to  learn  that  I  am  the  happiest  woman  under  the  sun  ?  ' ' 

"Happy?"  he  cried,  with  a  start  of  surprise. 

"Yes,  happy,  my  kind  father,"  and  she  caught  his  hands 
in  hers  and  covered  them  with  kisses,  and  pressed  them  to  her 
throbbing  heart.  Her  caresses  and  a  something  in  the  car- 
riage of  her  head  were  interpreted  yet  more  plainly  by  the 
joy  sparkling  in  her  eyes. 

"And  how  is  this?  "  he  asked,  wondering  at  his  daughter's 
life,  forgetful  now  of  everything  but  the  bright  glowing  face 
before  him. 

"Listen,  father,  I  have  for  lover,  husband,  servant,  and 
master  one  whose  soul  is  as  great  as  the  boundless  sea,  as  in- 
finite in  his  kindness  as  heaven,  a  god  on  earth  !  Never 
during  these  seven  years  has  a  chance  look,  or  word,  or  ges- 
ture jarred  in  the  divine  harmony  of  his  talk,  his  lover  his 
caresses.  His  eyes  have  never  met  mine  without  a  gleam  of 
happiness  in  them ;  there  has  always  been  a  bright  smile  on 
his  lips  for  me.  On  deck,  his  voice  rises  above  the  thunder 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  181 

of  storms  and  the  tumult  of  battle ;  but  here  below  it  is  soft 
and  melodious  as  Rossini's  music — for  he  has  Rossini's  music 
sent  for  me.  I  have  everything  that  woman's  caprice  can 
imagine.  My  wishes  are  more  than  fulfilled.  In  short,  I  am 
a  queen  on  the  seas ;  I  am  obeyed  here  as  perhaps  a  queen 
may  be  obeyed.  Ah!"  she  cried,  interrupting  herself, 
" happy  did  I  say?  Happiness  is  no  word  to  express  such 
bliss  as  mine.  All  the  happiness  that  should  have  fallen  to 
all  the  women  in  the  world  has  been  my  share.  Knowing 
one's  own  great  love  and  self-devotion,  to  find  in  his  heart  an 
infinite  love  in  which  a  woman's  soul  is  lost,  and  lost  for  ever 
— tell  me,  is  this  happiness?  I  have  lived  through  a  thousand 
lives  even  now.  Here,  I  am  alone ;  here  I  command.  No 
other  woman  has  set  foot  on  this  noble  vessel,  and  Victor  is 
never  more  than  a  few  paces  distant  from  me,  he  cannot 
wander  further  from  me  than  from  stern  to  prow,"  she  added, 
with  a  shade  of  mischief  in  her  manner.  "  Seven  years  !  A 
love  that  outlasts  seven  years  of  continual  joy,  that  endures 
all  the  tests  brought  by  all  the  moments  that  make  up  seven 
years — is  this  love?  Oh,  no,  no  !  it  is  something  better  than 

all  that  I  know  of  life human  language  fails  to  express 

the  bliss  of  heaven." 

A  sudden  torrent  of  tears  fell  from  her  burning  eyes.  The 
four  little  ones  raised  a  piteous  cry  at  this,  and  flocked  like 
chickens  about  their  mother.  The  oldest  boy  struck  the 
general  with  a  threatening  look. 

"Abel,  darling,"  said  Helene,  "I  am  crying  for  joy." 

Helene  took  him  on  her  knee,  and  the  child  fondled  her, 
putting  his  arms  about  her  queenly  neck,  as  a  lion's  whelp 
might  play  with  the  lioness. 

"Do  you  never  weary  of  your  life?"  asked  the  general, 
bewildered  by  his  daughter's  enthusiastic  language. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "sometimes,  when  we  are  on  land,  yet 
even  then  I  have  never  parted  from  my  husband." 

"  But  you  used  to  be  fond  of  music  and  balls  and  fdtes." 


182  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

"His  voice  is  music  for  me;  and  for  fgtes,  I  devise  new 
toilets  for  him  to  see.  When  he  likes  my  dress,  it  is  as  if  all 
the  world  admired  me.  Simply  for  that  reason  I  keep  the 
diamonds  and  jewels,  the  precious  things,  the  flowers  and 
masterpieces  of  art  that  he  heaps  upon  me,  saying,  '  Helene, 
as  you  live  out  of  the  world,  I  will  have  the  world  come  to 
you.'  But  for  that  I  would  fling  them  all  overboard." 

"  But  there  are  others  on  board,  wild,  reckless  men,  whose 
passions " 

"I  understand,  father,"  she  said,  smiling.  "Do  not  fear 
for  me.  Never  was  empress  encompassed  with  more  obser- 
vance than  I.  The  men  are  very  superstitious ;  they  look 
upon  me  as  a  sort  of  tutelary  genius,  the  luck  of  the  vessel. 
But  he  is  their  god  ;  they  worship  him.  Once,  and  once  only, 
one  of  the  crew  showed  disrespect,  mere  words,"  she  added, 
laughing;  "but  before  Victor  knew  of  it,  the  others  flung 
the  offender  overboard,  although  I  forgave  him.  They  love 
me  as  their  good  angel ;  I  nurse  them  when  they  are  ill ; 
several  times  I  have  been  so  fortunate  as  to  save  a  life,  by  con- 
stant care  such  as  a  woman  can  give.  Poor  fellows,  they  are 
giants,  but  they  are  children  at  the  same  time." 

"And  when  there  is  fighting  overhead?" 

"  I  am  used  to  it  now ;  I  quaked  for  fear  during  the  first 
engagement,  but  never  since.  I  am  used  to  such  peril,  and — 
I  am  your  daughter,"  she  said  ;  "I  love  it." 

"  But  how  if  he  should  fall  ?  " 

"I  should  die  with  him." 

"  And  your  children  ?  " 

"  They  are  children  of  the  sea  and  of  danger ;  they  share 
the  life  of  their  parents.  We  have  but  one  life,  and  we  do 
not  flinch  from  it.  We  have  but  the  one  life,  our  names  are 
written  on  the  same  page  of  the  book  of  Fate,  one  skiff  bears 
us  and  our  fortunes,  and  we  know  it." 

"  Do  you  so  love  him  that  he  is  more  to  you  than  all 
beside?" 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  183 

"All  beside?"  echoed  she.  "  Let  us  leave  that  mystery 
alone.  Yet  stay  !  there  is  this  dear  little  one — well,  this  too 
is  ht,"  and  straining  Abel  to  her  in  a  tight  clasp,  she  set  eager 
kisses  on  his  cheeks  and  hair. 

"  But  I  can  never  forget  that  he  has  just  drowned  nine 
men  !  "  exclaimed  the  general. 

"  There  was  no  help  for  it,  doubtless,"  she  said,  "  for  he  is 
generous  and  humane.  He  sheds  as  little  blood  as  may  be, 
and  only  in  the  interests  of  the  little  world  which  he  defends 
and  the  sacred  cause  for  which  he  is  fighting.  Talk  to  him 
about  anything  that  seems  to  you  to  be  wrong,  and  he  will 
convince  you,  you  will  see." 

"There  was  that  crime  of  his,"  muttered  the  general  to 
himself. 

"But  how  if  that  crime  was  a  virtue?"  she  asked,  with 
cold  dignity.  "  How  if  man's  justice  had  failed  to  avenge  a 
great  wrong  ? ' ' 

"  But  a  private  revenge  !  "  exclaimed  her  father. 

"  But  what  is  hell,"  she  cried,  "  but  a  revenge  through  all 
eternity  for  the  wrong  done  in  a  little  day?  " 

"  Ah  !  you  are  lost !  He  has  bewitched  and  perverted  you. 
You  are  talking  wildly." 

"  Stay  with  us  one  day,  father,  and  if  you  will  but  listen  to 
him,  and  see  him,  you  will  love  him." 

"Helene,  France  lies  only  a  few  leagues  away,"  he  said 
gravel  y. 

Helene  trembled ;  then  she  went  over  to  the  port-hole  and 
pointed  to  the  savannas  of  green  water  spreading  far  and  wide 
before  them. 

"  There  lies  my  country,"  she  said,  tapping  the  carpet  with 
her  foot. 

"  But  are  you  not  coming  with  me  to  see  your  mother  and 
your  sister  and  brothers  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  yes,"  she  cried,  with  tears  in  her  voice,  "  if  he  is 
willing,  if  he  will  come  with  me." 


184  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

11  So,"  the  general  said  sternly,  "  you  have  neither  country 
nor  kin  now,  Helene  ?  " 

"  I  am  his  wife,"  she  answered  proudly,  and  there  was 
something  very  noble  in  her  tone.  "This  is  the  first  happi- 
ness in  seven  years  that  has  not  come  to  me  through  him," 
she  said — then,  as  she  caught  her  father's  hand  and  kissed  it — 
"  and  this  is  the  first  word  of  reproach  that  I  have  heard." 

".And  your  conscience  ?  " 

"  My  conscience  ;  he  is  my  conscience  !  "  she  cried,  trem- 
bling from  head  to  foot.  "  Here  he  is !  Even  in  the  thick 
of  a  fight  I  can  tell  his  footstep  among  all  the  others  on  deck," 
she  cried. 

A  sudden  crimson  flushed  her  cheeks  and  glowed  in  her 
features,  her  eyes  lighted  up,  her  complexion  changed  to  vel- 
vet whiteness ;  there  was  joy  and  love  in  every  fibre,  in  the 
blue  veins,  in  the  unconscious  trembling  of  her  whole  frame. 
That  quiver  of  the  sensitive  plant  softened  the  general. 

It  was  as  she  had  said.  The  captain  came  in,  sat  down  in 
an  easy-chair,  took  up  his  oldest  boy,  and  began  to  play  with 
him.  There  was  a  moment's  silence,  for  the  general's  deep 
musing  had  grown  vague  and  dreamy,  and  the  daintily  fur- 
nished cabin  and  the  playing  children  seemed  like  a  nest  of 
halcyons,  floating  on  the  waves,  between  sky  and  sea,  safe  in 
the  protection  of  this  man  who  steered  his  way  amid  perils 
of  war  and  tempest,  as  other  heads  of  households  guide  those 
in  their  care  among  the  hazards  of  common  life.  He  gazed 
admiringly  at  Helene — a  dreamlike  vision  of  some  sea  goddess, 
gracious  in  her  loveliness,  rich  in  happiness ;  all  the  treasures 
about  her  grown  poor  in  comparison  with  the  wealth  of  her 
nature,  paling  before  the  brightness  of  her  eyes,  the  indefinable 
romance  expressed  in  her  and  her  surroundings. 

The  strangeness  of  the  situation  took  the  general  by  sur- 
prise ;  the  ideas  of  ordinary  life  were  thrown  into  confusion 
by  this  lofty  passion  and  reasoning.  Chill  and  narrow  social 
conventions  faded  away  before  this  picture.  All  these  things 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  185 

the  old  soldier  felt,  and  saw  no  less  how  impossible  it  was  that 
his  daughter  should  give  up  so  wide  a  life,  a  life  so  variously 
rich,  filled  to  the  full  with  such  passionate  love.  And  Helene 
had  tasted  danger  without  shrinking ;  how  could  she  return 
to  the  petty  stage,  the  superficial  circumscribed  life  of  society? 

It  was  the  captain  who  broke  the  silence  at  last. 

"Am  I  in  the  way?"  he  asked,  looking  at  his  wife. 

"No,"  said  the  general,  answering  for  her.  "Helene  has 
told  me  all.  I  see  that  she  is  lost  to  us " 

"No,"  the  captain  put  in  quickly;  "in  a  few  years'  time 
the  statute  of  limitations  will  allow  me  to  go  back  to  France. 
When  the  conscience  is  clear,  and  a  man  has  broken  the  law 

in  obedience  to "  he  stopped  short,  as  if  scorning  to  justify 

himself. 

"How  can  you  commit  new  murders,  such  as  I  have  seen 
with  my  own  eyes,  without  remorse?" 

"We  had  no  provisions,"  the  privateer  captain  retorted 
calmly. 

"But  if  you  had  set  the  men  ashore " 

"  They  would  have  given  the  alarm  and  sent  a  man-of-war 
after  us,  and  we  should  never  have  seen  Chili  [Peru]  again." 

"  Before  France  would  have  given  warning  to  the  Spanish 
admiralty "  began  the  general. 

"But  France  might  take  it  amiss  that  a  man,  with  a  warrant 
still  out  against  him,  should  seize  a  brig  chartered  by  Bordeaux 
merchants.  And  for  that  matter,  have  you  never  fired  a  shot 
or  so  too  many  in  battle  ?  " 

The  general  shrank  under  the  other's  eyes.  He  said  no 
more,  and  his  daughter  looked  at  him  half-sadly,  half-trium- 
phantly. 

"General,"  the  privateer  continued,  in  a  deep  voice,  "I 
have  made  it  a  rule  to  abstract  nothing  from  booty.  But 
even  so,  my  share  will,  beyond  a  doubt,  be  far  larger  than 
your  fortune.  Permit  me  to  return  it  to  you  in  another 
form " 


186  A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY. 

He  drew  a  pile  of  bank-notes  from  the  piano,  and  with, 
out  counting  the  packets  handed  a  million  of  francs  to  the 
marquis. 

"  You  can  understand,"  he  said,  "  that  I  cannot  spend  my 
time  in  watching  vessels  pass  by  to  Bordeaux.  So  unless  the 
dangers  of  this  Bohemian  life  of  ours  have  some  attraction  for 
you,  unless  you  care  to  see  South  America  and  the  nights  of 
the  tropics,  and  a  bit  of  fighting  now  and  again  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  helping  to  win  a  triumph  for  a  young  nation,  or  for  the 
name  of  Simon  Bolivar,  we  must  part.  The  long-boat,  manned 
with  a  trustworthy  crew,  is  ready  for  you.  And  now  let  us 
hope  that  our  third  meeting  will  be  completely  happy." 

"Victor,"  said  Helene  in  a  dissatisfied  tone,  "I  should 
like  to  see  a  little  more  of  my  father." 

"  Ten  minutes  more  or  less  may  bring  up  a  French  frigate. 
However,  so  be  it,  we  shall  have  a  little  fun.  The  men  find 
things  dull." 

"Oh,  father,  go!"  cried  Helene,  "and  take  these  keep- 
sakes from  me  to  my  sister  and  brothers  and — mother,"  she 
added.  She  caught  up  a  handful  of  jewels  and  precious 
stones,  folded  them  in  an  Indian  shawl,  and  timidly  held  it 
out. 

"But  what  shall  I  say  to  them  from  you?"  asked  he. 
Her  hesitation  on  the  word  "  mother"  seemed  to  have  struck 
him. 

"  Oh  !  can  you  doubt  me  ?  I  pray  for  their  happiness  every 
day." 

"  Helene,"  he  began,  as  he  watched  her  closely,  "how  if 
we  should  not  meet  again  ?  Shall  I  never  know  why  you  left 
us?" 

" That  secret  is  not  mine,"  she  answered  gravely.  "Even 
if  I  had  the  right  to  tell  it,  perhaps  I  should  not.  For  ten 
years  I  was  more  miserable  than  words  can  say " 

She  broke  off,  and  gave  her  father  the  presents  for  her 
family.  The  general  had  acquired  tolerably  easy  views  as  to 


A    VAST    COLUMN    OF   SMOKE    RISING    SPREAD    LIKE    A 
BROWN    CLOUD. 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  187 

booty  in  the  course  of  a  soldier's  career,  so  he  took  Helene's 
gifts  and  comforted  himself  with  the  reflection  that  the  Parisian 
captain  was  sure  to  wage  war  against  the  Spaniards  as  an  hon- 
orable man,  under  the  influence  of  Helene's  pure  and  high- 
minded  nature.  His  passion  for  courage  carried  all  before  it. 
It  was  ridiculous,  he  thought,  to  be  squeamish  in  the  matter ; 
so  he  shook  hands  cordially  with  his  captor,  and  kissed  Helene, 
his  only  daughter,  with  a  soldier's  expansiveness  ;  letting  fall 
a  tear  on  the  face  with  the  proud,  strong  look  that  once  he 
had  loved  to  see.  "The  Parisian,"  deeply  moved,  brought 
the  children  for  his  blessing.  The  parting  was  over,  the  last 
good-by  was  a  long  farewell-look,  with  something  of  tender 
regret  on  either  side. 

A  strange  sight  to  seaward  met  the  general's  eyes.  The 
Saint-Ferdinand  was  blazing  like  a  huge  bonfire.  The  men 
told  off  to  sink  the  Spanish  brig  had  found  a  cargo  of  rum 
on  board  ;  and,  as  the  Othello  was  already  amply  supplied, 
had  lighted  a  floating  bowl  of  punch  on  the  high-seas,  by  way 
of  a  joke ;  a  pleasantry  pardonable  enough  in  sailors,  who 
hail  any  chance  excitement  as  a  relief  from  the  apparent 
monotony  of  life  at  sea.  As  the  general  went  over  the  side 
into  the  long-boat  of  the  Saint-Ferdinand,  manned  by  six 
vigorous  rowers,  he  could  not  help  looking  at  the  burning 
vessel,  as  well  as  at  the  daughter  who  stood  by  her  husband's 
side  on  the  stern  of  the  Othello.  He  saw  Helene's  white 
dress  flutter  like  one  more  sail  in  the  breeze ;  he  saw  the  tall, 
noble  figure  against  a  background  of  sea,  queenly  still  even 
in  the  presence  of  Ocean ;  and  so  many  memories  crowded 
up  in  his  mind,  that,  with  a  soldier's  recklessness  of  life,  he 
forgot  that  he  was  being  borne  over  the  grave  of  th,e  brave 
Gomez. 

A  vast  column  of  smoke  rising  spread  like  a  brown  cloud, 
pierced  here  and  there  by  fantastic  shafts  of  sunlight.  It  was 
a  second  sky,  a  murky  dome  reflecting  the  glow  of  the  fire  as 


'188  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

if  the  under  surface  had  been  burnished ;  but  above  it  soared 
the  unchanging  blue  of  the  firmament,  a  thousand  times  fairer 
for  the  short-lived  contrast.  The  strange  hues  of  the  smoke- 
cloud,  black  and  red,  tawny  and  pale  by  turns,  blurred  and 
blending  into  each  other,  shrouded  the  burning  vessel  as  it 
flared,  crackled,  and  groaned;  the  hissing  tongues  of  flame 
licked  up  the  rigging  and  flashed  across  the  hull,  like  a  rumor 
of  riot  flashing  along  the  streets  of  a  city.  The  burning  rum 
sent  up  blue  flitting  lights.  Some  sea  god  might  have  been 
stirring  the  furious  liquor  as  a  student  stirs  the  joyous  flames 
of  punch  in  an  orgie.  But  in  the  overpowering  sunlight, 
jealous  of  the  insolent  blaze,  the  colors  were  scarcely  visible, 
and  the  smoke  was  but  a  film  fluttering  like  a  thin  scarf  in 
the  noonday  torrent  of  light  and  heat. 

The  Othello  made  the  most  of  the  little  wind  she  could  gain 
to  fly  on  her  new  course.  Swaying  first  to  one  side,  then  to 
the  other,  like  a  stag-beetle  on  the  wing,  the  fair  vessel  beat  to 
windward  on  her  zigzag  flight  to  the  south.  Sometimes  she 
was  hidden  from  sight  by  the  straight  column  of  smoke  that 
flung  fantastic  shadows  across  the  water,  then  gracefully  she 
shot  out  clear  of  it,  and  Helene,  catching  sight  of  her  father, 
again  waved  her  handkerchief  for  yet  one  more  farewell  greet- 
ing. 

A  few  more  minutes,  and  the  Saint-Ferdinand  went  down 
with  a  bubbling  turmoil,  at  once  effaced  by  the  ocean.  Noth- 
ing of  all  that  had  been  was  left  but  a  smoke-cloud  hanging 
in  the  breeze.  The  Othello  was  far  away,  the  long-boat  had 
almost  reached  land,  the  cloud  came  between  the  frail  skiff 
and  the  brig,  and  it  was  through  a  break  in  the  swaying  smoke 
that  the  general  caught  the  last  glimpse  of  Helene.  A  pro- 
phetic vision  !  Her  dress  and  her  white  handkerchief  stood 
out  against  the  murky  background.  Then  the  brig  was  not 
even  visible  between  the  green  water  and  the  blue  sky,  and 
Helene  was  nothing  but  an  imperceptible  speck,  a  faint  grace- 
ful line,  an  angel  in  heaven,  a  mental  image,  a  memory. 


A    IV OMAN  OF   THIRTY.  189 

The  marquis  had  retrieved  his  fortunes,  when  he  died,  worn 
out  with  toil.  A  few  months  after  his  death,  in  1833,  tne 
marquise  was  obliged  to  take  MoTna  to  a  watering-place  in  the 
Pyrenees,  for  the  capricious  child  had  a  wish  to  see  the  beauti- 
ful mountain  scenery.  They  left  the  baths,  and  the  following 
tragical  incident  occurred  on  their  way  home. 

"  Dear  me,  mother,"  said  MoTna,  "  it  was  very  foolish  of  us 
not  to  stay  among  the  mountains  a  few  days  longer.  It  was 
much  nicer  there.  Did  you  hear  that  horrid  child  moaning 
all  night,  and  that  wretched  woman,  gabbling  away  in  patois 
no  doubt,  for  I  could  not  understand  a  single  word  she  said. 
What  kind  of  people  can  they  have  put  in  the  next  room  to 
ours?  This  is  one  of  the  most  horrid  nights  I  have  ever  spent 
in  my  life." 

"I  heard  nothing,"  said  the  marquise,  "but  I  will  see  the 
landlady,  darling,  and  engage  the  next  room,  and  then  we 
shall  have  the  whole  suite  of  rooms  to  ourselves,  and  there 
will  be  no  more  noise.  How  do  you  feel  this  morning? 
Are  you  tired?" 

As  she  spoke,  the  marquise  rose  and  went  to  Moi'na's 
bedside. 

"Let  us  see,"  she  said,  feeling  for  the  girl's  hand. 

"Oh  !  let  me  alone,  mother,"  said  MoTna;  "your  fingers 
are  cold." 

She  turned  her  head  round  on  the  pillow  as  she  spoke,  pet- 
tishly, but  with  such  engaging  grace,  that  a  mother  could 
scarcely  have  taken  it  amiss.  Just  then  a  wailing  cry  echoed 
through  the  next  room,  a  faint  prolonged  cry,  that  must  surely 
have  gone  to  the  heart  of  any  woman  who  heard  it. 

"  Why,  if  you  heard  that  all  night  long,  why  did  you  not 
wake  me  ?  We  should  have ' ' 

A  deeper  moan  than  any  that  had  gone  before  it  interrupted 
the  marquise. 

"Some  one  is  dying  there,"  she  cried,  and  hurried  out  of 
the  room. 


190  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

"Send  Pauline  to  me!"  called  MoTna.  "I  shall  get  up 
and  dress." 

The  marquise  hastened  downstairs,  and  found  the  landlady 
in  the  courtyard  with  a  little  group  of  people  about  her, 
apparently  much  interested  in  something  that  she  was  telling 
them. 

"Madame,  you  have  put  some  one  in  the  next  room  who 
seems  to  be  very  ill  indeed " 

"  Oh  !  don't  talk  to  me  about  it !  "  cried  the  mistress  of  the 
house.  "I  have  just  sent  some  one  for  the  mayor.  Just 
imagine  it ;  it  is  a  woman,  a  poor  unfortunate  creature  that 
came  here  last  night  on  foot.  She  comes  from  Spain  ;  she 
has  no  passport  and  no  money ;  she  was  carrying  her  baby 
on  her  back,  and  the  child  was  dying.  I  could  not  refuse 
to  take  her  in.  I  went  up  to  see  her  this  morning  myself; 
for  when  she  turned  up  yesterday,  it  made  me  feel  dread- 
fully bad  to  look  at  her.  Poor  soul !  she  and  the  child 
were  lying  in  bed,  and  both  of  them  at  death's  door. 
'Madame,'  says  she,  pulling  a  gold  ring  off  her  finger, 
'  this  is  all  that  I  have  left ;  take  it  in  payment,  it  will  be 
enough ;  I  shall  not  stay  here  long.  Poor  little  one !  we 
shall  die  together  soon  ! '  she  said,  looking  at  the  child.  I 
took  her  ring,  and  I  asked  her  who  she  was,  but  she  never 
would  tell  me  her  name.  I  have  just  sent  for  the  doctor 
and  Monsieur  le  Maire." 

"Why  you  must  do  all  that  can  be  done  for  her,"  cried 
the  marquise.  "  Good  heavens  !  perhaps  it  is  not  too  late  !  I 
will  pay  for  everything  that  is  necessary " 

"  Ah  !  my  lady,  she  looks  to  me  to  be  uncommonly  proud, 
and  I  don't  know  that  she  would  allow  it." 

"  I  will  go  to  see  her  at  once." 

The  marquise  went  up  forthwith  to  the  stranger's  room, 
without  thinking  of  the  shock  that  the  sight  of  her  widow's 
weeds  might  give  to  a  woman  who  was  said  to  be  dying.  At 
the  sight  of  that  dying  woman  the  marquise  turned  pale.  In 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  191 

spite  of  the  changes  wrought  by  fearful  suffering  in  Helene's 
beautiful  face,  she  recognized  her  eldest  daughter. 

But  Helene,  when  she  saw  a  woman  dressed  in  black,  sat 
upright  in  bed  with  a  shriek  of  horror.  Then  she  sank  back ; 
she  knew  her  mother. 

"My  daughter,"  said  Mme.  d'Aiglemont,  "what  is  to  be 
done?  Pauline! Molna  ! " 

"Nothing  now  for  me,"  said  Helene  faintly.  "I  had 

hoped  to  see  my  father  once  more,  but  your  mourning " 

she  broke  off,  clutched  her  child  to  her  heart  as  if  to  give  it 
warmth,  and  kissed  its  forehead.  Then  she  turned  her  eyes 
on  her  mother,  and  the  marquise  met  the  old  reproach  in 
them,  tempered  with  forgiveness,  it  is  true,  but  still  reproach. 
She  saw  it,  and  would  not  see  it.  She  forgot  that  Helene 
was  the  child  conceived  amid  tears  and  despair,  the  child  of 
duty,  the  cause  of  one  of  the  greatest  sorrows  in  her  life. 
She  stole  to  her  eldest  daughter's  side,  remembering  nothing 
but  that  Helene  was  her  firstborn,  the  child  who  had  taught 
her  to  know  the  joys  of  motherhood.  The  mother's  eyes 

were  full  of  tears.  "Helene,  my  child! "  she  cried, 

with  her  arms  about  her  daughter. 

Helene  was  silent.  Her  own  babe  had  just  drawn  its  last 
breath  on  her  breast. 

Moi'na  came  into  the  room  with  Pauline,  her  maid,  and 
the  landlady  and  the  doctor.  The  marquise  was  holding  her 
daughter's  ice-cold  hand  in  both  of  hers,  and  gazing  at  her 
in  despair ;  but  the  widowed  woman,  who  had  escaped  ship- 
wreck with  but  one  of  all  her  fair  band  of  children,  spoke  in 
a  voice  that  was  dreadful  to  hear.  "All  this  is  your  work," 
she  said.  "  If  you  had  but  been  for  me,  all  that " 

"Moi'na,  go!  Go  out  of  the  room,  all  of  you!"  cried 
Mme.  d'Aiglemont,  her  shrill  tone  drowning  Helene's  voice. 
"For  pity's  sake,"  she  continued,  "let  us  not  begin  these 
miserable  quarrels  again  now " 

"I  will  be  silent,"  Helene  answered  with  a  preternatural 


192  A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY. 

effort.  "  I  am  a  mother,  I  know  that  Mo'ina  ought  not, 
must  not Where  is  my  child  ?  " 

MoYna  came  back,  impelled  by  curiosity. 

"  Sister,"  said  the  spoilt  child,  "  the  doctor " 

"  It  is  all  of  no  use,"  said  Helene.  "  Oh  !  why  did  I  not 
die  as  a  girl  of  sixteen  when  I  meant  to  take  my  own  life? 

There  can  be  no  happiness  outside  the  laws.  Mo'ina 

you ' ' 

Her  head  sank  till  her  face  lay  against  the  face  of  the  little 
one ;  in  her  agony  she  strained  her  babe  to  her  breast,  and 
died. 

"Your  sister,  Molna,"  said  Mme.  d'Aiglemont,  bursting 
into  tears  when  she  reached  her  room,  "  your  sister  meant  no 
doubt  to  tell  you  that  a  girl  will  never  find  happiness  in  a 
romantic  life,  in  living  as  nobody  else  does,  and,  above  all 
things,  far  away  from  her  mother." 


VI. 

THE   OLD   AGE   OF  A   GUILTY   MOTHER. 

It  was  one  of  the  earliest  June  days  of  the  year  1844. 
A  lady  of  fifty  or  thereabout,  for  she  looked  older  than  her 
actual  age,  was  pacing  up  and  down  one  of  the  sunny  paths 
in  the  garden  of  a  great  mansion  in  the  Rue  Plumet  in  Paris. 
It  was  noon.  The  lady  took  two  or  three  turns  along  the 
gently  winding  garden-walk,  careful  never  to  lose  sight  of  a  cer- 
tain row  of  windows,  to  which  she  seemed  to  give  her  whole 
attention ;  then  she  sat  down  on  a  bench,  a  piece  of  elegant 
semi-rusticity  made  of  branches  with  the  bark  left  on  the 
wood.  From  the  place  where  she  sat  she  could  look  through 
the  garden  railings  along  the  inner  boulevards  to  the  wonder- 
ful dome  of  the  Invalides  rising  above  the  crests  of  a  forest 
of  elm-trees,  and  see  the  less  striking  view  of  her  own  grounds 
terminating  in  the  gray-stone  front  of  one  of  the  finest  hotels 
in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain. 

Silence  lay  over  the  neighboring  gardens  and  the  boule- 
vards stretching  away  to  the  Invalides.  Day  scarcely  begins 
at  noon  in  that  aristocratic  quarter,  and  masters  and  servants 
are  all  alike  asleep,  or  just  awakening,  unless  some  young  lady 
takes  it  into  her  head  to  go  for  an  early  ride,  or  a  gray-headed 
diplomatist  rises  betimes  to  redraft  a  protocol. 

The  elderly  lady  stirring  abroad  at  that  hour  was  the  Mar- 
quise d'Aiglemont,  the  mother  of  Mme.  de  Saint-Hereen,  to 
whom  the  great  house  belonged.  The  marquise  had  made 
over  the  mansion  and  almost  her  whole  fortune  to  her  daugh- 
ter, reserving  only  an  annuity  for  herself. 

The  Comtesse  Mo'ina  de  Saint-Hereen  was  Mme.  d'Aigle- 
mont's  youngest  child.  The  marquise  had  made  every  sacri- 
fice to  marry  her  daughter  to  the  eldest  son  of  one  of  the 
13  (193) 


194  A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY. 

greatest  houses  of  France ;  and  this  was  only  what  might  have 
been  expected,  for  the  lady  had  lost  her  sons,  first  one  and 
then  the  other.  Gustave,  Marquis  d'Aigleraont,  had  died  of 
the  cholera;  Abel,  the  second,  had  fallen  in  Algeria.  Gus- 
tave had  left  a  widow  and  children,  but  the  dowager's  affec- 
tion for  her  sons  had  been  only  moderately  warm,  and  for  the 
next  generation  it  was  decidedly  tepid.  She  was  always  civil 
to  her  daughter-in-law,  but  her  feeling  toward  the  young  mar- 
quise was  the  distinctly  conventional  affection  which  good 
taste  and  good  manners  require  us  to  feel  for  our  relatives. 
The  fortunes  of  her  dead  children  having  been  settled,  she 
could  devote  her  savings  and  her  own  property  to  her  darling 
Mo'ina. 

Moina,  beautiful  and  fascinating  from  childhood,  was  Mme. 
d'Aiglemont's  favorite  ;  loved  beyond  all  the  others  with  an 
instinctive  or  involuntary  love,  a  fatal  drawing  of  the  heart, 
which  sometimes  seems  inexplicable,  sometimes,  and  to  a  close 
observer,  only  too  easy  to  explain.  Her  darling's  pretty  face, 
the  sound  of  Moina's  voice,  her  ways,  her  manner,  her  looks 
and  gestures,  roused  all  the  deepest  emotions  that  can  stir  a 
mother's  heart  with  trouble,  rapture,  or  delight.  The  springs 
of  the  marquise's  life,  of  yesterday,  to-morrow,  and  to-day, 
lay  in  that  young  heart.  Mo'ina,  with  better  fortune,  had 
survived  four  older  children.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Mme. 
d'Aiglemont  had  lost  her  eldest  daughter,  a  charming  girl,  in 
a  most  unfortunate  manner,  said  gossip,  nobody  knew  exactly 
what  became  of  her ;  and  then  she  lost  a  little  boy  of  five  by 
a  dreadful  accident. 

The  child  of  her  affections  had,  however,  been  spared  to 
her,  and  doubtless  the  marquise  saw  the  will  of  heaven  in  that 
fact;  for  of  those  who  had  died,  she  kept  but  very  shadowy 
recollections  in  some  far-off  corner  of  her  heart ;  her  mem- 
ories of  her  dead  children  were  like  'the  headstones  on  a  battle- 
field, you  can  scarcely  see  them  for  the  flowers  that  have 
sprung  up  about  them  since.  Of  course,  if  the  world  had 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  195 

chosen,  it  might  have  said  some  hard  truths  about  the  mar- 
quise, might  have  taken  her  to  task  for  shallowness  and  an 
overweening  preference  for  one  child  at  the  expense  of  the 
rest ;  but  the  world  of  Paris  is  swept  along  by  the  full  flood 
of  new  events,  new  ideas,  and  new  fashions,  and  it  was  inevi- 
table that  Mme.  d'Aiglemont  should  be  in  some  sort  allowed 
to  drop  out  of  sight.  So  nobody  thought  of  blaming  her  for 
coldness  or  neglect  which  concerned  no  one,  whereas  her 
quick,  apprehensive  tenderness  for  Moina  was  found  highly 
interesting  by  not  a  few  who  respected  it  as  a  sort  of  supersti- 
tion. Beside,  the  marquise  scarcely  went  into  society  at  all ; 
and  the  few  families  who  knew  her  thought  of  her  as  a  kindly, 
gentle,  indulgent  woman,  wholly  devoted  to  her  family. 
What  but  a  curiosity,  keen  indeed,  would  seek  to  pry  beneath 
the  surface  with  which  the  world  is  quite  satisfied  ?  And  what 
would  we  not  pardon  to  old  people,  if  only  they  will  efface 
themselves  like  shadows,  and  consent  to  be  regarded  as  mem- 
ories and  nothing  more  ! 

Indeed,  Mme.  d'Aiglemont  became  a  kind  of  example 
complacently  held  up  by  the  younger  generation  to  fathers  of 
families,  and  frequently  cited  to  mothers-in-law.  She  had 
made  over  her  property  to  Moma  in  her  own  lifetime;  the 
young  countess'  happiness  was  enough  for  her,  she  only  lived 
in  her  daughter.  If  some  cautious  old  person  or  morose 
uncle  here  and  there  condemned  the  course  with — "Perhaps 
Madame  d'Aiglemont  may  be  sorry  some  day  that  she  gave 
up  her  fortune  to  her  daughter ;  she  may  be  sure  of  Mo'i'na, 
but  how  can  she  be  equally  sure  of  her  son-in-law  ?" — these 
prophets  were  cried  down  on  all  sides,  and  from  all  sides  a 
chorus  of  praise  went  up  for  Moina. 

"  It  ought  to  be  said,  in  justice  to  Madame  de  Saint-Hereen, 
that  her  mother  cannot  feel  the  slightest  difference,"  re 
marked  a  young  married  woman.  "  Madame  d'Aiglemont  is 
admirably  well  housed.  She  has  a  carriage  at  her  disposal, 
and  can  go  everywhere  just  as  she  used  to  do " 


196  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

"Except  to  the  Italiens,"  remarked  a  low  voice.  (This 
was  an  elderly  parasite,  one  of  those  persons  who  show  their 
independence — as  they  think — by  riddling  their  friends  with 
epigrams.)  "  Except  to  the  Italiens.  And  if  the  dowager 
cares  for  anything  on  this  earth  but  her  daughter — it  is  music. 
Such  a  good  performer  she  was  in  her  time  !  But  the  coun- 
tess' box  is  always  full  of  young  butterflies,  and  the  countess' 
mother  would  be  in  the  way ;  the  young  lady  is  talked  about 
already  as  a  great  flirt.  So  the  poor  mother  never  goes  to  the 
Italiens." 

"Madame  de  Saint-Hereen  has  delightful  'At  Homes' 
for  her  mother,"  said  a  rosebud.  "All  Paris  goes  to  her 
salon." 

"And  no  one  pays  any  attention  to  the  marquise,"  returned 
the  parasite. 

"The  fact  is  that  Madame  d'Aiglemont  is  never  alone," 
remarked  a  coxcomb,  siding  with  the  young  women. 

"  In  the  morning,"  the  old  observer  continued  in  a  discreet 
voice,  "  in  the  morning  dear  Mo'ina  is  asleep.  At  four  o'clock 
dear  Molha  drives  in  the  Bois.  In  the  evening  dear  Mo'ina 
goes  to  a  ball  or  to  the  Bouffes.  Still,  it  is  certainly  true  that 
Madame  d'Aiglemont  has  the  privilege  of  seeing  her  dear 
daughter  while  she  dresses,  and  again  at  dinner,  if  dear 
Mo'ina  happens  to  dine  with  her  mother.  Not  a  week  ago, 
sir,"  continued  the  elderly  person,  laying  his  hand  on  the 
arm  of  the  shy  tutor,  a  new  arrival  in  the  house,  "  not  a  week 
ago,  I  saw  the  poor  mother,  solitary  and  sad,  by  her  own  fire- 
side. 'What  is  the  matter?'  I  asked.  The  marquise  looked 
up  smiling,  but  I  am  quite  sure  that  she  had  been  crying. 
'  I  was  thinking  that  it  is  a  strange  thing  that  I  should  be  left 
alone  when  I  have  had  five  children,'  she  said,  'but  that  is  our 
destiny  !  And,  beside,  I  am  happy  when  I  know  that  Mofna 
is  enjoying  herself.'  She  could  say  that  to  me,  for  I  knew 
her  husband  when  he  was  alive.  A  poor  stick  he  was,  and 
uncommonly  lucky  to  have  such  a  wife ;  it  was  certainly 


A    WOMAN-  OF  THIRTY.  197 

owing  to  her  that  he  was  made  a  peer  of  France,  and  had  a 
place  at  Court  under  Charles  X." 

Yet  such  mistaken  ideas  get  about  in  social  gossip,  and  such 
mischief  is  done  by  it,  that  the  historian  of  manners  is  bound 
to  exercise  his  discretion,  and  weigh  the  assertions  so  reck- 
lessly made.  After  all,  who  is  to  say  that  either  mother  or 
daughter  was  right  or  wrong.  There  is  but  One  who  can  read 
and  judge  their  hearts  !  And  how  often  does  He  wreak  His 
vengeance  in  the  family  circle,  using  throughout  all  time  chil- 
dren as  his  instruments  against  their  mothers,  and  fathers 
against  their  sons,  raising  up  peoples  against  kings,  and  princes 
against  peoples,  sowing  strife  and  division  everywhere?  And 
in  the  world  of  ideas,  are  not  old  opinions  and  feelings  ex- 
pelled by  new  feelings  and  opinions,  much  as  withered  leaves 
are  thrust  forth  by  the  young  leaf-buds  in  the  spring  ? — all  in 
obedience  to  the  immutable  Scheme ;  all  to  some  end  which 
God  alone  knows.  Yet,  surely,  all  things  proceed  to  Him, 
or  rather,  to  Him  all  things  return. 

Such  thoughts  of  religion,  the  natural  thoughts  of  age, 
floated  up  now  and  again  on  the  current  of  Mme.  d'Aiglemont's 
thoughts ;  they  were  always  dimly  present  in  her  mind,  but 
sometimes  they  shone  out  clearly,  sometimes  they  were  car- 
ried under,  like  flowers  tossed  on  the  vexed  surface  of  a  stormy 
sea. 

She  sat  on  the  garden -seat,  tired  with  walking,  exhausted 
with  much  thinking — with  the  long  thoughts  in  which  a 
whole  lifetime  rises  up  before  the  mind,  and  is  spread  out 
like  a  scroll  before  the  eyes  of  those  who  feel  that  Death  is 
near. 

If  a  poet  had  chanced  to  pass  along  the  boulevard,  he  would 
have  found  an  interesting  picture  in  the  face  of  this  woman, 
grown  old  before  her  time.  As  she  sat  under  the  dotted 
shadow  of  the  acacia,  the  shadow  the  acacia  casts  at  noon,  a 
thousand  thoughts  were  written  for  all  the  world  to  see  on  her 
features,  pale  and  cold  even  in  the  hot,  bright  sunlight. 


198  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

There  was  something  sadder  than  the  sense  of  waning  life  in 
that  expressive  face,  some  trouble  that  went  deeper  than  the 
weariness  of  experience.  It  was  a  face  of  a  type  that  fixes  you 
in  a  moment  among  a  host  of  characterless  faces  that  fail  to 
draw  a  second  glance,  a  face  to  set  you  thinking.  Among  a 
thousand  pictures  in  a  gallery  you  are  strongly  impressed  by 
the  sublime  anguish  on  the  face  of  some  Madonna  of  Murillo's ; 
by  some  Beatrice  Cenci  in  which  Guide's  art  portrays  the 
most  touching  innocence  against  a  background  of  horror  and 
crime ;  by  the  awe  and  majesty  that  should  encircle  a  king, 
caught  once  and  for  ever  by  Velasquez  in  the  sombre  face  of 
a  Philip  II.,  and  so  is  it  with  some  living  human  faces;  they 
are  tyrannous  pictures  which  speak  to  you,  submit  you  to 
searching  scrutiny,  and  give  response  to  your  inmost  thoughts, 
nay,  there  are  faces  that  set  forth  a  whole  drama,  and  Mme. 
d'Aiglemont's  stony  face  was  one  of  these  awful  tragedies, 
one  of  such  faces  as  Dante  Alighieri  saw  by  thousands  in  his 
vision. 

For  the  little  season  that  a  woman's  beauty  is  in  flower  it 
serves  her  admirably  well  in  the  dissimulation  to  which  her 
natural  weakness  and  our  social  laws  condemn  her.  A  young 
face  and  rich  color,  and  eyes  that  glow  with  light,  a  gracious 
maze  of  such  subtle,  manifold  lines  and  curves,  flawless  and 
perfectly  traced,  is  a  screen  that  hides  everything  that  stirs  the 
woman  within.  A  flush  tells  nothing,  it  only  heightens  the 
coloring  so  brilliant  already ;  all  the  fires  that  burn  within  can 
add  little  light  to  the  flame  of  life  in  eyes  which  only  seem  the 
brighter  for  the  flash  of  a  passing  pain.  Nothing  is  so  discreet 
as  a  young  face,  for  nothing  is  less  mobile;  it  has  the  serenity, 
the  surface  smoothness,  and  the  freshness  of  a  lake.  There  is 
no  character  in  women's  faces  before  the  age  of  thirty.  The 
painter  discovers  nothing  there  but  pink  and  white,  and  the 
smile  and  expression  that  repeat  the  same  thought  in  the  same 
way — a  thought  of  youth  and  love  that  goes  no  further  than 
youth  and  love.  But  the  face  of  an  old  woman  has  expressed 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  199 

all  that  lay  in  her  nature ;  passion  has  carved  lines  on  her 
features;  love  and  wifehood  and  motherhood,  and  extremes 
of  joy  and  anguish,  have  wrung  them,  and  left  their  traces  in 
a  thousand  wrinkles,  all  of  which  speak  a  language  of  their 
own  ;  then  is  it  that  a  woman's  face  becomes  sublime  in  its 
horror,  beautiful  in  its  melancholy,  grand  in  its  calm.  If  it  is 
permissible  to  carry  the  strange  metaphor  still  further,  it  might 
be  said  that  in  the  dried-up  lake  you  can  see  the  traces  of  all 
the  torrents  that  once  poured  into  it  and  made  it  what  it  is. 
An  old  face  is  nothing  to  the  frivolous  world  ;  the  frivolous 
world  is  shocked  by  the  sight  of  the  destruction  of  such  come- 
liness as  it  can  understand  \  a  commonplace  artist  sees  nothing 
there.  An  old  face  is  the  province  of  the  poets  among  poets 
of  those  who  can  recognize  that  something  which  is  called 
Beauty,  apart  from  all  the  conventions  underlying  so  many 
superstitions  in  art  and  taste. 

Though  Mme.  d'Aiglemont  wore  a  fashionable  bonnet,  it 
was  easy  to  see  that  her  once  black  hair  had  been  bleached 
by  cruel  sorrows ;  yet  her  good  taste  and  the  gracious  acquired 
instincts  of  a  woman  of  fashion  could  be  seen  in  the  way  she 
wore  it,  divided  into  two  bandeaux,  following  the  outlines  of 
a  forehead  that  still  retained  some  traces  of  former  dazzling 
beauty,  worn  and  lined  though  it  was.  The  contours  of  her 
face,  the  regularity  of  her  features,  gave  some  idea,  faint  in 
truth,  of  that  beauty  of  which  surely  she  had  once  been  proud  ; 
but  those  traces  spoke  still  more  plainly  of  the  anguish  which 
had  laid  it  waste,  of  sharp  pain  that  had  withered  the  temples, 
and  made  those  hollows  in  her  cheeks,  and  empurpled  the 
eyelids  and  robbed  them  of  their  lashes,  and  the  eyes  of  their 
charm.  She  was  in  every  way  so  noiseless  ;  she  moved  with 
a  slow,  self-contained  gravity  that  showed  itself  in  her  whole 
bearing,  and  struck  a  certain  awe  into  others.  Her  diffident 
manner  had  changed  to  positive  shyness,  due  apparently  to  a 
habit  now  of  some  years'  growth,  of  effacing  herself  in  her 


200  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

daughter's  presence.  She  spoke  very  seldom,  and  in  the  low 
tones  used  by  those  who  perforce  must  live  within  themselves 
a  life  of  reflection  and  concentration.  This  demeanor  led 
others  to  regard  her  with  an  indefinable  feeling  which  was 
neither  awe  nor  compassion,  but  a  mysterious  blending  of  the 
many  ideas  awakened  in  us  by  compassion  and  awe.  Finally, 
there  was  something  in  her  wrinkles,  in  the  lines  of  her  face, 
in  the  look  of  pain  in  those  wan  eyes  of  hers,  that  bore  elo- 
quent testimony  to  tears  that  never  had  fallen,  tears  that  had 
been  absorbed  by  her  heart.  Unhappy  creatures,  accustomed 
to  raise  their  eyes  to  heaven,  in  mute  appeal  against  the  bit- 
terness of  their  lot,  would  have  seen  at  once  from  her  eyes 
that  she  was  broken  in  to  the  cruel  discipline  of  ceaseless 
prayer,  would  have  discerned  the  almost  imperceptible  symp- 
toms of  the  secret  bruises  which  destroy  all  the  flowers  of  the 
soul,  even  the  sentiment  of  motherhood. 

Painters  have  colors  for  these  portraits,  but  words,  and  the 
mental  images  called  up  by  words,  fail  to  reproduce  such 
impressions  faithfully ;  there  are  mysterious  signs  and  tokens 
in  the  tones  of  the  coloring  and  in  the  look  of  human  faces, 
which  the  mind  only  seizes  through  the  sense  of  sight ;  and 
the  poet  is  fain  to  record  the  tale  of  the  events  which  wrought 
the  havoc  to  make  their  terrible  ravages  understood. 

The  face  spoke  of  cold  and  steady  storm,  an  inward  con- 
flict between  a  mother's  longsuffering  and  the  limitations  of 
our  nature,  for  our  human  affections  are  bounded  by  our 
humanity,  and  the  infinite  has  no  place  in  finite  creatures. 
Sorrow  endured  in  silence  had  at  last  produced  an  indefinable 
morbid  something  in  this  woman.  Doubtless  mental  anguish 
had  reacted  on  the  physical  frame,  and  some  disease,  perhaps 
an  aneurism,  was  undermining  Julie's  life.  Deep-seated  grief 
lies  to  all  appearance  very  quietly  in  the  depths  where  it  is 
conceived,  yet,  so  still  and  apparently  dormant  as  it  is,  it 
ceaselessly  corrodes  the  soul,  like  the  terrible  acid  which  eats 
away  crystal. 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  201 

Two  tears  made  their  way  down  the  marquise's  cheeks; 
she  rose  to  her  feet  as  if  some  thought  more  poignant  than 
any  that  preceded  it  had  cut  her  to  the  quick.  She  had 
doubtless  come  to  a  conclusion  as  to  Moina's  future ;  and 
now,  foreseeing  clearly  all  the  troubles  in  store  for  her  child, 
the  sorrows  of  her  own  unhappy  life  had  begun  to  weigh  once 
more  upon  her.  The  key  of  her  position  must  be  sought  in 
her  daughter's  situation. 

The  Comte  de  Saint-Hereen  had  been  away  for  nearly  six 
months  on  a  political  mission.  The  countess,  whether  from 
sheer  giddiness,  or  in  obedience  to  the  countless  instincts  of 
woman's  coquetry,  or  to  essay  its  power — with  all  the  vanity 
of  a  frivolous  fine  lady,  all  the  capricious  waywardness  of  a 
child — was  amusing  herself,  during  her  husband's  absence,  by 
playing  with  the  passion  of  a  clever  but  heartless  man,  dis- 
tracted (so  he  said)  with  love,  the  love  that  combines  readily 
with  every  petty  social  ambition  of  a  self-conceited  coxcomb. 
Mme.  d'Aiglemont,  whose  long  experience  had  given  her  a 
knowledge  of  life,  and  taught  her  to  judge  of  men  and  to 
dread  the  world,  watched  the  course  of  this  flirtation,  and  saw 
that  it  could  only  end  in  one  way,  if  her  daughter  should  fall 
into  the  hands  of  an  utterly  unscrupulous  intriguer.  How 
could  it  be  other  than  a  terrible  thought  for  her  that  her 
daughter  listened  willingly  to  this  roue  ?  Her  darling  stood 
on  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  she  felt  horribly  sure  of  it,  yet 
dared  not  hold  her  back.  She  was  afraid  of  the  countess. 
She  knew,  too,  that  Mo'ina  would  not  listen  to  her  wise  warn- 
ings; she  knew  that  she  had  no  influence  over  that  nature — 
iron  for  her,  silken-soft  for  all  others.  Her  mother's  tender- 
ness might  have  led  her  to  sympathize  with  the  troubles  of  a 
passion  called  forth  by  the  nobler  qualities  of  a  lover,  but 
this  was  no  passion — it  was  coquetry,  and  the  marquise  despised 
Alfred  de  Vandenesse,  knowing  that  he  had  entered  upon  this 
flirtation  with  MoVna  as  if  it  were  a  game  of  chess. 

But  if  Alfred  de  Vandenesse  made  her  shudder  with  disgust, 


202  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

she  was  obliged — unhappy  mother ! — to  conceal  the  strongest 
reason  for  her  loathing  in  the  deepest  recesses  of  her  heart. 
She  was  on  terms  of  intimate  friendship  with  the  Marquis  de 
Vandenesse,  the  young  man's  father  ;  and  this  friendship,  a 
respectable  one  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  excused  the  son's 
constant  presence  in  the  house,  he  professing  an  old  attach- 
ment, dating  from  childhood,  for  Mme.  de  Saint-Hereen. 
More  than  this,  in  vain  did  Mme.  d'Aiglemont  nerve  herself 
to  come  between  MoTna  and  Alfred  de  Vandenesse  with  a 
terrible  word,  knowing  beforehand  that  she  would  not  succeed ; 
knowing  that  the  strong  reason  which  ought  to  separate  them 
would  carry  no  weight ;  that  she  should  humiliate  herself 
vainly  in  her  daughter's  eyes.  Alfred  was  too  corrupt; 
MoTna  too  clever  to  believe  the  revelation ;  the  young  countess 
would  turn  it  off  and  treat  it  as  a  piece  of  maternal  strategy. 
Mme.  d'Aiglemont  had  built  her  prison  walls  with  her  own 
hands;  she  had  immured  herself  only  to  see  Moina's  happi- 
ness ruined  thence  before  she  died ;  she  was  to  look  on  help- 
lessly at  the  ruin  of  the  young  life  which  had  been  her  pride 
and  joy  and  comfort,  a  life  a  thousand  times  dearer  to  her 
than  her  own.  What  words  can  describe  anguish  so  hideous 
beyond  belief,  such  unfathomed  depths  of  pain  ? 

She  waited  for  Mo'ina  to  rise,  with  the  impatience  and 
sickening  dread  of  a  doomed  man,  who  longs  to  have  done 
with  life,  yet  turns  cold  at  the  thought  of  the  headsman. 
She  had  braced  herself  for  a  last  effort,  but  perhaps  the  pros- 
pect of  the  certain  failure  of  the  attempt  was  less  dreadful  to 
her  than  the  fear  of  receiving  yet  again  one  of  those  thrusts 
that  went  to  her  very  heart — before  that  fear  her  courage 
ebbed  away.  Her  mother's  love  had  come  to  this.  To  love 
her  child,  to  be  afraid  of  her,  to  shrink  from  the  thought  of 
the  stab,  yet  to  go  forward.  So  great  is  a  mother's  affection  in 
a  loving  nature  that,  before  it  can  fade  away  into  indifference, 
the  mother  herself  must  die  or  find  support  in  some  great 
power  without  her,  in  religion  or  another  love.  Since  the 


A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY.  203 

marquise  rose  that  morning,  her  fatal  memory  had  called  up 
before  her  some  of  those  things,  so  slight  to  all  appearance, 
that  make  landmarks  in  a  life.  Sometimes,  indeed,  a  whole 
tragedy  grows  out  of  a  single  gesture ;  the  tone  in  which  a 
few  words  were  spoken  rends  a  whole  life  in  twain  ;  a  glance 
into  indifferent  eyes  is  the  death-blow  of  the  gladdest  love ; 
and,  unhappily,  such  gestures  and  such  words  were  only  too 
familiar  to  Mme.  d'Aiglemont — she  had  met  so  many  glances 
that  wound  the  soul.  No,  there  was  nothing  in  those  memories 
to  bid  her  hope.  On  the  contrary,  everything  went  to  show 
that  Alfred  had  destroyed  her  hold  on  her  daughter's  heart, 
that  the  thought  of  her  was  now  associated  with  duty — not 
with  gladness.  In  ways  innumerable,  in  things  that  were 
mere  trifles  in  themselves,  the  countess'  detestable  conduct 
rose  up  before  her  mother;  and  the  marquise,  it  may  be, 
looked  on  Moi'na's  undutifulness  as  a  punishment,  and  found 
excuses  for  her  daughter  in  the  will  of  heaven,  that  so  she 
still  might  adore  the  hand  that  smote  her. 

All  these  things  passed  through  her  memory  that  morning, 
and  each  recollection  wounded  her  afresh  so  sorely  that,  with 
a  very  little  additional  pain,  her  brimming  cup  of  bitterness 
must  have  overflowed.  A  cold  look  might  kill  her. 

The  little  details  of  domestic  life  are  difficult  to  paint ;  but 
one  or  two,  perhaps,  will  suffice  to  give  an  idea  of  the  rest. 

The  Marquise  d'Aiglemont,  for  instance,  had  grown  rather 
deaf,  but  she  could  never  induce  MoVna  to  raise  her  voice  for 
her.  Once,  with  the  naivete  of  suffering,  she  had  begged 
Mo'ina  to  repeat  some  remark  which  she  had  failed  to  catch, 
and  Mo'ina  obeyed,  but  with  so  bad  a  grace  that  Mme.  d'Aigle- 
mont had  never  permitted  herself  to  make  her  modest  request 
again.  Ever  since  that  day,  when  Mo'ina  was  talking  or  retail- 
ing a  piece  of  news,  her  mother  was  careful  to  come  near  to 
listen ;  but  this  infirmity  of  deafness  appeared  to  put  the 
countess  out  of  patience,  and  she  would  grumble  thoughtlessly 
about  it.  This  instance  is  one  from  among  very  many  that 


204  A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY. 

must  have  gone  to  the  mother's  heart ;  and  yet  nearly  all  of 
them  might  have  escaped  a  close  observer,  they  consisted  in 
faint  shades  of  manner  invisible  to  any  but  a  woman's  eyes. 
Take  another  example  :  Mme.  Aiglemont  happened  to  say  one 
day  that  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan  had  called  upon  her. 
"  Did  she  come  to  see  you  !  "  MoTna  exclaimed.  That  was  all ; 
but  the  countess'  voice  and  manner  expressed  surprise  and 
well-bred  contempt  in  semitones.  Any  heart,  still  young  and 
sensitive,  might  well  have  applauded  the  philanthropy  of 
savage  tribes  who  kill  off  their  old  people  when  they  grow  too 
feeble  to  cling  to  a  strongly  shaken  bough.  Mme.  d' Aigle- 
mont rose  smiling,  and  went  away  to  weep  alone. 

Well-bred  people,  and  women  especially,  only  betray  their 
feelings  by  imperceptible  touches;  but  those  who  can  look 
back  over  their  own  experience  on  such  bruises  as  this  mother's 
heart  received,  know  also  how  the  heart-strings  vibrate  to  these 
light  touches.  Overcome  by  her  memories,  Mme.  d' Aigle- 
mont recollected  one  of  those  microscopically  small  things, 
so  stinging  and  so  painful  was  it  that  never  till  this  moment 
had  she  felt  all  the  heartless  contempt  that  lurked  beneath 
smiles. 

At  the  sound  of  shutters  thrown  back  at  her  daughter's 
windows,  she  dried  her  tears,  and  hastened  up  the  pathway 
by  the  railings.  As  she  went,  it  struck  her  that  the  gardener 
had  been  unusually  careful  to  rake  the  sand  along  the  walk 
which  had  been  neglected  for  some  little  time.  As  she  stood 
under  her  daughter's  windows,  the  shutters  were  hastily  closed. 

"  MoTna,  is  it  you?"  she  asked. 

No  answer. 

The  marquise  went  on  into  the  house. 

"  Madame  la  Comtesse  is  in  the  little  drawing-room,"  said 
the  maid,  when  the  marquise  asked  whether  Mme.  de  Saint- 
Hereen  had  finished  dressing. 

Mme.  d' Aiglemont  hurried  to  the  little  drawing-room  ;  her 
heart  was  too  full,  her  brain  too  busy  to  notice  matters  so 


A    WOMAN  OF    THIRTY.  205 

slight ;  but  there  on  a  sofa  sat  the  countess  in  her  loose  morn- 
ing gown,  her  hair  in  disorder  under  the  cap  tossed  carelessly 
on  her  head,  her  feet  thrust  into  slippers.  The  key  of  her 
bedroom  hung  at  her  girdle.  Her  face,  aglow  with  color, 
bore  traces  of  almost  stormy  thought. 

"  What  makes  people  come  in  !  "  she  cried  crossly.  "Oh  ! 
it  is  you,  mother?"  she  interrupted  herself,  with  a  preoccupied 
look. 

"Yes,  child  ;  it  is  your  mother." 

Something  in  her  tone  turned  those  words  into  an  out- 
pouring of  the  heart,  the  cry  of  some  deep  inward  feeling, 
only  to  be  described  by  the  word  "  holy."  So  thoroughly  in 
truth  had  she  rehabilitated  the  sacred  character  of  a  mother 
that  her  daughter  was  impressed,  and  turned  toward  her,  with 
something  of  awe,  uneasiness,  and  remorse  in  her  manner. 
The  room  was  the  farthest  of  a  suite,  and  safe  from  indiscreet 
intrusion,  for  no  one  could  enter  it  without  giving  warning  of 
approach  through  the  previous  apartments.  The  marquise 
closed  the  door. 

"  It  is  my  duty,  my  child,  to  warn  you  in  one  of  the  most 
serious  crises  in  the  lives  of  us  women ;  you  have  perhaps 
reached  it  unconsciously,  and  I  am  come  to  speak  to  you  as  a 
friend  rather  than  as  a  mother.  When  you  married,  you 
acquired  freedom  of  action  ;  you  are  only  accountable  to  your 
husband  now ;  but  I  asserted  my  authority  so  little  (perhaps  I 
was  wrong)  that  I  think  I  have  a  right  to  expect  you  to  listen 
to  me,  for  once  at  least,  in  a  critical  position  when  you  must 
need  counsel.  Bear  in  mind,  Moina,  that  you  are  married  to 
a  man  of  high  ability,  a  man  of  whom  you  may  well  be  proud, 
a  man  who " 

"  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say  mother  !  "  MoTna  broke 
in  pettishly.  "  I  am  to  be  lectured  about  Alfred " 

"Moina,"  the  marquise  said  gravely,  as  she  struggled 
with  her  tears,  "  you  would  not  guess  at  once  if  you  did  not 
feel " 


206  A    WOMAN  OF    THIRTY, 

"What?"  asked  MoTna,  almost  haughtily.  "Why,  really, 
mother " 

Mme.  d'Aiglemont  here  summoned  up  all  her  strength. 
"Moi'na,"  she  said,  "you  must  attend  carefully  to  this  that 
I  ought  to  tell  you " 

"I  am  attending,"  returned  the  countess,  folding  her  arms 
and  affecting  insolent  submission.  "  Permit  me,  mother,  to 
ring  for  Pauline,"  she  added,  with  incredible  self-possession  ; 
"I  will  send  her  away  first." 

She  rang  the  bell. 

"  My  dear  child,  Pauline  cannot  possibly  hear " 

"Mamma,"  interrupted  the  countess,  with  a  gravity  which 
must  have  struck  her  mother  as  something  unusual,  "  I 
must " 

She  stopped  short,  for  the  woman  was  in  the  room. 

"  Pauline,  go  yourself  to  Baudran's  and  ask  why  my  hat  has 
not  yet  been  sent." 

Then  the  countess  reseated  herself  and  scrutinized  her 
mother.  The  marquise,  with  a  swelling  heart  and  dry  eyes, 
in  painful  agitation,  which  none  but  a  mother  can  fully  under- 
stand, began  to  open  Mo'ina's  eyes  to  the  risk  that  she  was 
running.  But  either  the  countess  felt  hurt  and  indignant  at 
her  mother's  suspicions  of  a  son  of  the  Marquis  de  Vandenesse 
or  she  was  seized  with  a  sudden  fit  of  inexplicable  levity 
caused  by  the  inexperience  of  youth.  She  took  advantage  of 
a  pause. 

"Mamma,  I  really  thought  you  were  only  jealous  of  the 
father "  she  said,  with  a  forced  laugh. 

Mme.  d'Aiglemont  shut  her  eyes  and  bent  her  head  at  the 
words,  with  a  very  faint,  almost  inaudible  sigh.  She  looked 
up  and  out  into  space,  as  if  she  felt  the  common  overmastering 
impulse  to  appeal  to  God  at  the  great  crises  of  our  lives ;  then 
she  looked  at  her  daughter,  and  her  eyes  were  full  of  awful 
majesty  and  the  expression  of  profound  sorrow. 

"My  child,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  hardly  recog- 


A    WOMAN  OF   THIRTY.  207 

nizable,  "  you  have  been  less  merciful  to  your  mother  than  he 
against  whom  she  sinned ;  less  merciful  than  perhaps  God 
himself  will  be!" 

Mme.  d' Aiglemont  rose ;  at  the  door  she  turned  ;  but  she 
saw  nothing  but  surprise  in  her  daughter's  face.  She  went 
out.  Scarcely  had  she  reached  the  garden  when  her  strength 
failed  her.  There  was  a  violent  pain  at  her  heart,  and  she 
sank  down  on  a  bench.  As  her  eyes  wandered  over  the  path, 
she  saw  fresh  marks  impressed  on  it,  a  man's  footprints  were 
distinctly  recognizable.  It  was  too  late,  then,  beyond  a  doubt. 
Now  she  began  to  understand  the  reason  for  that  order  given 
to  Pauline,  and  with  these  torturing  thoughts  came  a  revelation 
more  hateful  than  any  that  had  gone  before  it.  She  drew  her 
own  inferences — the  son  of  the  Marquis  de  Vandenesse  had 
destroyed  all  feeling  of  respect  for  her  in  her  daughter's  mind. 
The  physical  pain  grew  worse ;  by  degrees  she  lost  conscious- 
ness, and  sat  like  one  asleep  upon  the  garden-seat. 

The  Countess  de  Saint-Hereen,  left  to  herself,  thought  that 
her  mother  had  given  her  a  somewhat  shrewd  home-thrust, 
but  a  kiss  and  a  few  attentions  that  evening  would  make  all 
right  again. 

A  shrill  cry  came  from  the  garden.  She  leaned  carelessly 
out,  as  Pauline,  not  yet  departed  on  her  errand,  called  out  for 
help,  holding  the  marquise  in  her  arms. 

"  Do  not  frighten  my  daughter !  "  these  were  the  last  words 
the  mother  uttered. 

Moina  saw  them  carry  in  a  pale  and  lifeless  form  that 
struggled  for  breath,  and  arms  moving  restlessly  as  in  protest 
or  effort  to  speak ;  and  overcome  by  the  sight,  Mo'ina  followed 
in  silence,  and  helped  to  undress  her  mother  and  lay  her  on 
her  bed.  The  burden  of  her  fault  was  greater  than  she  could 
bear.  In  that  supreme  hour  she  learned  to  know  her  mother 
— too  late,  she  could  make  no  reparation  now.  She  would 
have  them  leave  her  alone  with  her  mother ;  and  when  there 
was  no  one  else  in  the  ropm,  when  she  felt  that  the  hand 


203  A    WOMAN  OF  THIRTY. 

which  had  always  been  so  tender  for  her  was  now  grown  cold 
to  her  touch,  she  broke  out  into  weeping.  Her  tears  aroused 
the  marquise ;  she  could  still  look  at  her  darling  Mo'ina ; 
and  at  the  sound  of  sobbing,  that  seemed  as  if  it  must  rend 
the  delicate,  disheveled  breast,  could  smile  back  at  her 
daughter.  That  smile  taught  the  unnatural  child  that  for- 
giveness is  always  to  be  found  in  the  great  deep  of  a  mother's 
heart. 

Servants  on  horseback  had  been  dispatched  at  once  for  the 
physician  and  surgeon  and  for  Mme.  d'Aiglemont's  grand- 
children. Mme.  d'Aiglemont  the  younger  and  her  little  sons 
arrived  with  the  medical  men,  a  sufficiently  impressive,  silent, 
and  anxious  little  group,  which  the  servants  of  the  house 
came  to  join.  The  young  marquise,  hearing  no  sound, 
tapped  gently  at  the  door.  That  signal,  doubtless,  roused 
Moina  from  her  grief,  for  she  flung  open  the  door  and  stood 
before  them.  No  words  could  have  spoken  more  plainly 
than  that  disheveled  figure  looking  out  with  haggard  eyes  upon 
the  assembled  family.  Before  that  living  picture  of  Remorse, 
the  rest  were  dumb.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  the  marquise's 
feet  were  stretched  out  stark  and  stiff  with  the  agony  of  death  ; 
and  MoYna,  leaning  against  the  door-frame,  looking  in  their 
faces,  spoke  in  a  hollow  voice — 

"  I  have  lost  my  mother !  " 

PARIS,  1828-1844. 


A  START  IN  LIFE. 

Translated  by  CLARA  BELL. 

To  Laure, 

To  whose  bright  and  modest  wit  I  owe  the  idea  of 
this  Scene.     Hers  be  the  honor  ! 

Her  brother, 

DE  BALZAC. 

RAILROADS,  in  a  future  now  not  far  distant,  must  lead  to 
the  disappearance  of  certain  industries  and  modify  others, 
especially  such  as  are  concerned  in  the  various  modes  of 
transport  commonly  used  in  the  neighborhood  of  Paris.  In 
fact,  the  persons  and  the  things  which  form  the  accessories  of 
this  little  drama  will  ere  long  give  it  the  dignity  of  an  archoso- 
logical  study.  Will  not  our  grandchildren  be  glad  to  know 
something  of  a  time  which  they  will  speak  of  as  the  old  days? 

For  instance,  the  picturesque  vehicles  known  as  coucous, 
which  used  to  stand  on  the  Place  de  la  Concorde  and  crowd 
the  Cours-la-Reine,  which  flourished  so  greatly  during  a  cen- 
tury, and  still  survived  in  1830,  exist  no  more.  Even  on  the 
occasion  of  the  most  attractive  rural  festivity,  hardly  one  is  to 
be  seen  on  the  road  in  this  year  1842. 

In  1820  not  all  the  places  famous  for  their  situation,  and 
designated  as  the  environs  of  Paris,  had  any  regular  service 
of  coaches.  The  Touchards,  father  and  son,  had  acquired  a 
monopoly  of  conveyances  to  and  from  the  largest  towns  within 
a  radius  of  fifteen  leagues,  and  their  establishment  occupied 
splendid  premises  in  the  Rue  du  Faubourg  Saint-Denis.  In 
spite  of  their  old  standing  and  their  strenuous  efforts,  in  spite 
of  their  large  capital  and  all  the  advantages  of  strong  cen- 
14  (209) 


210  A  START  IN  LIFE. 

tralization,  Touchards'  service  had  formidable  rivals  in  the 
coucous  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Denis  for  distances  of  seven  or 
eight  leagues  out  of  Paris.  The  Parisian  has  indeed  such  a 
passion  for  the  country  that  local  establishments  also  held 
their  own  in  many  cases  against  the  Petites  Messageries  (little 
stage-coaches),  a  name  given  to  Touchards'  short-distance 
coaches,  to  distinguish  them  from  the  Grandes  Mcssagcries 
(large  stage-coaches),  the  general  conveyance  company,  in 
the  Rue  Montmartre. 

At  that  time  the  success  of  the  Touchards  stimulated  specu- 
lation ;  conveyances  were  put  on  the  road  to  and  from  the 
smallest  towns — handsome,  quick,  and  commodious  vehicles, 
starting  and  returning  at  fixed  hours ;  and  these,  in  a  circuit 
of  ten  leagues  or  so,  gave  rise  to  vehement  competition. 
Beaten  on  the  longer  distances,  the  coucou  fell  back  on  short 
runs,  and  survived  a  few  years  longer.  It  finally  succumbed 
when  the  omnibus  had  proved  the  possibility  of  packing  eigh- 
teen persons  into  a  vehicle  drawn  by  two  horses.  Nowadays 
the  coucou,  if  a  bird  of  such  heavy  flight  is  by  chance  still  to 
be  found  in  the  recesses  of  some  store  for  dilapidated  vehicles, 
would,  from  its  structure  and  arrangement,  be  the  subject  of 
learned  investigations,  like  Cuvier's.  researches  on  the  animals 
discovered  in  the  lime-quarries  of  Montmartre. 

These  smaller  companies,  being  threatened  by  larger  specu- 
lations competing,  after  1822,  with  the  Touchards,  had  never- 
theless a  fulcrum  of  support  in  the  sympathies  of  the  residents 
in  the  places  they  plied  to.  The  master  of  the  concern,  who 
was  both  owner  and  driver  of  the  vehicle,  was  usually  a 
tavernkeeper  of  the  district,  to  whom  its  inhabitants  were  as 
familiar  as  were  their  common  objects  and  interests.  He  was 
intelligent  in  fulfilling  commissions;  he  asked  less  for  his 
little  services,  and  therefore  obtained  more,  than  the  employes 
of  the  Touchards.  He  was  clever  at  evading  the  necessity  for 
an  excise  pass.  At  a  pinch  he  would  infringe  the  rules  as  to 
the  number  of  passengers  he  might  carry.  In  fact,  he  was 


A   START  IN  LIFE,  211 

master  of  the  affections  of  the  people.  Hence,  when  a  rival 
appeared  in  the  field,  if  the  old-established  conveyance  ran  on 
alternate  days  of  the  week,  there  were  persons  who  would 
postpone  their  journey  to  take  it  in  the  company  of  the  origi- 
nal driver,  even  though  his  vehicle  and  horses  were  none  of 
the  safest  and  best. 

One  of  the  lines  which  the  Touchards,  father  and  son,  tried 
hard  to  monopolize,  but  which  was  hotly  disputed — nay, 
which  is  still  a  subject  of  dispute  with  their  successors  the 
Toulouses — was  that  between  Paris  and  Beaumont-sur-Oise,  a 
highly  profitable  district,  since  in  1822  three  lines  of  convey- 
ances worked  it  at  once.  The  Touchards  lowered  their  prices, 
but  in  vain,  and  in  vain  increased  the  number  of  services ;  in 
vain  they  put  superior  vehicles  on  the  road,  the  competitors 
held  their  own,  so  profitable  is  a  line  running  through  little 
towns  like  Saint-Denis  and  Saint-Brice,  and  such  a  string  of 
villages  as  Prerrefitte,  Groslay,  Ecouen,  Poncelles,  Moisselles, 
Baillet,  Monsoult,  Maffliers,  Franconville,  Presles,  Nointel, 
Nerville,  and  others.  The  Touchards  at  last  extended  their 
line  of  service  as  far  as  to  Chambly ;  the  rivals  ran  to  Cham- 
bly.  And  at  the  present  day  the  Toulouses  go  as  far  as 
Beauvais. 

On  this  road,  the  highway  to  England,  there  is  a  place 
which  is  not  ill-named  la  Cave  (the  Cellar),  a  paved  way 
leading  down  into  one  of  the  most  delightful  nooks  of  the 
Oise  valley,  and  to  the  little  town  of  1'Isle-Adam,  doubly 
famous  as  the  native  place  of  the  now  extinct  family  of  1' Isle- 
Adam,  and  as  the  splendid  residence  of  the  Princes  of  Bour- 
bon-Conti.  L'Isle-Adam  is  a  charming  little  town,  flanked 
by  two  large  hamlets,  that  of  Nogent  and  that  of  Parmain, 
both  remarkable  for  the  immense  quarries  which  have  fur- 
nished the  materials  for  the  finest  edifices  of  Paris,  and  indeed 
abroad  too,  for  the  base  and  capitals  of  the  theatre  at  Brussels 
are  of  Nogent  stone. 

Though  remarkable  for  its  beautiful  points  of  view  and  for 


212  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

famous  castles  built  by  princes,  abbots,  or  famous  architects, 
as  at  Cassan,  Stors,  le  Val,  Nointel,  Persan,  etc.,  this  district, 
in  1822,  had  as  yet  escaped  competition,  and  was  served  by 
two  coach-owners,  who  agreed  to  work  it  between  them. 
This  exceptional  state  of  things  was  based  on  causes  easily 
explained.  From  la  Cave,  where,  on  the  highroad,  begins 
the  fine  paved  way,  due  to  the  magnificence  of  Princes  of 
Conti,  to  1'Isle  Adam,  is  a  distance  of  two  leagues;  no  main- 
line coach  could  diverge  so  far  from  the  highway,  especially 
as  1'Isle-Adam  was  at  that  time  the  end  of  things  in  that 
direction.  The  road  led  thither,  and  ended  there.  Of  late, 
a  highroad  joins  the  valley  of  Montmorency  to  that  of  1' Isle- 
Adam.  Leaving  Saint-Denis,  it  passes  through  Saint-Leu- 
Taverny,  Meru,  1' Isle- Adam,  and  along  by  the  Oise  as  far  as 
Beaumont.  But  in  1822  the  only  road  to  1'Isle-Adam  was  that 
made  by  the  Princes  de  Conti. 

Consequently  Pierrotin  and  his  colleague  reigned  supreme 
from  Paris  to  1'Isle-Adam,  beloved  of  all  the  district.  Pier- 
rotin's  coach  and  his  friend's  ran  by  Stors,  le  Val,  Parmain, 
Champagne,  Mours,  Prerolles,  Nogent,  Nerville,  and  Maffliers. 
Pierrotin  was  so  well  known  that  the  residents  at  Monsoult, 
Moisselles,  Baillet,  and  Saint-Brice,  though  living  on  the  high- 
road, made  use  of  his  coach,  in  which  there  was  more  often  a 
chance  of  a  seat  than  in  the  Beaumont  diligence,  which  was 
always  full.  Pierrotin  and  his  friendly  rival  agreed  to  admira- 
tion. When  Pierrotin  started  from  1' Isle- Adam,  the  other  set 
out  from  Paris,  and  vice-versa.  Of  the  opposition  driver, 
nothing  need  be  said.  Pierrotin  was  the  favorite  in  the  line. 
And  of  the  two,  he  alone  appears  on  the  scene  in  this  vera- 
cious history.  So  it  will  suffice  to  say  that  the  two  coach- 
drivers  lived  on  excellent  terms,  competing  in  honest  warfare, 
and  contending  for  customers  without  sharp  practice.  In 
Paris,  out  of  economy,  they  put  up  at  the  same  inn,  using  the 
same  yard,  the  same  stable,  the  same  coach-shed,  the  same 
office,  the  same  booking-clerk.  And  this  fact  is  enough  to 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  213 

show  that  Pierrotin  and  his  opponent  were  "good  dough," 
as  the  common  folk  say. 

That  inn,  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  d'Enghien,  exists  to  this 
day,  and  is  called  the  Silver  Lion  (Lion  d' Argent).  The 
proprietor  of  this  hostelry — a  hostelry  from  time  immemorial 
for  coach-drivers — himself  managed  a  line  of  vehicles  to  Dam- 
martin  on  so  sound  a  basis  that  his  neighbors  the  Touchards, 
of  the  Petites  Mcssagerics  opposite,  never  thought  of  starting 
a  conveyance  on  that  road. 

Though  the  coaches  for  1' Isle- Adam  were  supposed  to  set 
out  punctually,  Pierrotin  and  his  friend  displayed  a  degree  of 
indulgence  on  this  point  which,  while  it  won  them  the  affec- 
tions of  the  natives,  brought  down  severe  remonstrances  from 
strangers  who  were  accustomed  to  the  exactitude  of  the  larger 
public  companies ;  but  the  two  drivers  of  these  vehicles,  half 
diligence,  half  coucou,  always  found  partisans  among  their 
regular  customers.  In  the  afternoon  the  start  fixed  for  four 
o'clock  always  dragged  on  till  half-past;  and  in  the  morning, 
though  eight  was  the  hour  named,  the  coach  never  got  off 
before  nine. 

This  system  was,  however,  very  elastic.  In  summer,  the 
golden  season  for  coaches,  the  time  of  departure,  rigorously 
punctual  as  concerned  strangers,  gave  way  for  natives  of  the 
district.  This  method  afforded  Pierrotin  the  chance  of 
pocketing  the  price  of  two  places  for  one  when  a  resident  in 
the  town  came  early  to  secure  a  place  already  booked  by  a 
bird  of  passage,  who,  by  ill-luck,  was  behind  time.  Such 
elastic  rules  would  certainly  not  be  approved  by  a  Puritan 
moralist ;  but  Pierrotin  and  his  colleague  justified  it  by  the 
hard  times,  by  their  losses  during  the  winter  season,  by  the 
necessity  they  would  presently  be  under  of  purchasing  better 
carriages,  and,  finally,  by  an  exact  application  of  the  rules 
printed  on  their  tickets,  copies  of  which  were  of  the  greatest 
rarity,  and  never  given  but  to  those  travelers  who  were  so 
perverse  as  to  insist. 


214  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

Pierrotin,  a  man  of  forty,  was  already  the  father  of  a 
family.  He  had  left  the  cavalry  in  1815,  when  the  army  was 
disbanded,  and  then  this  very  good  fellow  had  succeeded  his 
father,  who  drove  a  coucou  between  1' Isle-Adam  and  Paris  on 
somewhat  erratic  principles.  After  marrying  the  daughter  of 
a  small  tavernkeeper,  he  extended  and  regulated  the  business, 
and  was  noted  for  his  intelligence  and  military  punctuality. 
Brisk  and  decisive,  Pierrotin — a  nickname,  no  doubt — had  a 
mobile  countenance  which  gave  an  amusing  expression  and  a 
semblance  of  intelligence  to  a  face  reddened  by  exposure  to 
the  weather.  Nor  did  he  lack  the  "gift  of  the  gab,"  which 
is  caught  by  intercourse  with  the  world  and  by  seeing  different 
parts  of  it.  His  voice,  by  dint  of  talking  to  his  horses  and 
shouting  to  others  to  get  out  of  the  way,  was  somewhat  harsh, 
but  he  could  soften  it  to  a  customer. 

His  costume,  that  of  coach-drivers  of 'the  superior  class, 
consisted  of  stout,  strong  boots,  heavy  with  nails,  and  made 
at  1'Isle-Adam,  trousers  of  bottle-green  velveteen,  and  a  jacket 
of  the  same,  over  which,  in  the  exercise  of  his  functions,  he 
wore  a  blue  blouse,  embroidered  in  colors  on  the  collar, 
shoulder-pieces,  and  wristbands.  On  his  head  was  a  cap  with 
i  peak.  His  experience  of  military  service  had  stamped  on 
Pierrotin  the  greatest  respect  for  social  superiority,  and  a 
habit  of  obedience  to  people  of  the  upper  ranks ;  but,  while  he 
was  ready  to  be  on  familiar  terms  with  the  modest  citizen,  he 
was  always  respectful  to  women,  of  whatever  class.  At  the  same 
time,  the  habit  of  "carting  folks  about,"  to  use  his  own 
expression,  had  led  him  to  regard  his  travelers  as  parcels ; 
though,  being  on  feet,  they  demanded  less  care  than  the 
other  merchandise,  which  was  the  aim  and  end  of  the  service. 

Warned  by  the  general  advance,  which  since  the  peace  had 
begun  to  tell  on  his  business,  Pierrotin  was  determined  not  to 
be  beaten  by  the  progress  of  the  world.  Ever  since  the  last 
summer  season  he  had  talked  a  great  deal  of  a  certain  large 
conveyance  he  had  ordered  of  Farry,  Breilmann  &  Co., 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  215 

the  best  diligence  builders,  as  being  needed  by  the  constant 
increase  of  travelers.  Pierrotin's  plant  at  that  time  consisted 
of  two  vehicles.  One,  which  did  duty  for  the  winter,  and 
the  only  one  he  ever  showed  to  the  tax-collector,  was  of  the 
coucou  species.  The  bulging  sides  of  this  vehicle  allowed  it 
to  carry  six  passengers  on  two  seats  as  hard  as  iron,  though 
covered  with  yellow  worsted  velvet.  These  seats  were  divided 
by  a  wooden  bar,  which  could  be  removed  at  pleasure  or 
refixed  in  two  grooves  in  the  sides,  at  the  height  of  a  man's 
back.  This  bar,  perfidiously  covered  by  Pierrotin  with 
yellow  velvet,  and  called  by  him  a  back  to  the  seat,  was  the 
cause  of  much  despair  to  the  travelers  from  the  difficulty  of 
moving  and  readjusting  it.  If  the  board  was  painful  to  fix, 
it  was  far  more  so  to  the  shoulder-blades  when  it  was  fitted ;  on 
the  other  hand,  if  it  was  not  unshipped,  it  made  entrance  and 
egress  equally  perilous,  especially  to  women. 

Though  each  seat  of  this  vehicle,  which  bulged  at  the 
sides,  like  a  woman  before  childbirth,  was  licensed  to  hold  no 
more  than  three  passengers,  it  was  not  unusual  to  see  eight 
packed  in  it  like  herrings  in  a  barrel.  Pierrotin  declared  that 
they  were  all  the  more  comfortable  since  they  formed  a  com- 
pact and  immovable  mass,  whereas  three  were  constantly 
thrown  against  each  other,  and  often  ran  the  risk  of  spoiling 
their  hats  against  the  roof  of  the  vehicle  by  reason  of  the 
violent  jolting  on  the  road.  In  front  of  the  body  of  this 
carriage  there  was  a  wooden  box-seat,  Pierrotin's  driving-seat, 
which  could  also  carry  three  passengers,  who  were  designated, 
as  all  the  world  knows,  as  lapins  (rabbits).  Occasionally, 
Pierrotin  would  accommodate  four  lapins,  and  then  sat  askew 
on  a  sort  of  box  below  the  front  seat  for  the  lapins  to  rest 
their  feet  on ;  this  was  filled  with  straw  or  such  parcels  as 
could  not  be  injured. 

The  body  of  the  vehicle,  painted  yellow,  was  ornamented 
by  a  band  of  bright  blue,  on  which  might  be  read  in  white 
letters,  on  each  side  :  L' ISLE-ADAM — PARIS;  and  on  the  back, 


216  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

SERVICE  DE  L' ISLE-ADAM.  Our  descendants  will  be  under  a 
mistake  if  they  imagine  that  this  conveyance  could  carry  no 
more  than  thirteen  persons,  including  Pierrotin.  On  great 
occasions  three  more  could  be  seated  in  a  square  compartment 
covered  with  tarpaulin  in  which  trunks,  boxes,  and  parcels 
were  generally  piled ;  but  Pierrotin  was  too  prudent  to  let 
any  but  regular  customers  sit  there,  and  only  took  them  up 
three  or  four  hundred  yards  outside  the  barrier.  These  pas- 
sengers in  the  poulailler,  or  hen-coop,  the  name  given  by  the 
conductors  to  this  part  of  a  coach,  were  required  to  get  out 
before  reaching  any  village  on  the  road  where  there  was  a 
station  of  gendarmerie ;  for  the  overloading,  forbidden  by 
the  regulations  "for  the  greater  safety  of  travelers,"  was  in 
these  cases  so  excessive  that  the  gendarme — always  Pierrotin's 
very  good  friend — could  not  have  excused  himself  from  re- 
porting such  a  flagrant  breach  of  rules.  But  thus  Pierrotin's 
vehicle,  on  certain  Saturday  evenings  and  Monday  mornings, 
carted  out  fifteen  passengers ;  and  then  to  help  pull  it,  he 
gave  his  large  but  aged  horse,  named  Rougeot,  the  assistance 
of  a  second  nag  about  as  big  as  a  pony,  which  he  could  never 
sufficiently  praise.  This  little  steed  was  a  mare  called  Bichette ; 
and  she  ate  little,  she  was  full  of  spirit,  nothing  could  tire  her, 
she  was  worth  her  weight  in  gold  ! 

"  My  wife  would  not  exchange  her  for  that  fat  lazybones 
Rougeot !  "  Pierrotin  would  exclaim,  when  a  traveler  laughed 
at  him  about  this  concentrated  extract  of  horse. 

The  difference  between  this  carriage  and  the  other  was, 
that  the  second  had  four  wheels.  This  vehicle,  a  remarkable 
structure,  always  spoken  of  as  "  the  four-wheeled  coach," 
could  hold  seventeen  passengers,  being  intended  to  carry 
fourteen.  It  rattled  so  preposterously  that  the  folk  in  1'Isle- 
Adam  would  say,  "  Here  comes  Pierrotin  !  "  when  he  had 
but  just  come  out  of  the  wood  that  hangs  on  the  slope  to  the 
valley.  It  was  divided  into  two  lobes,  one  of  which,  called 
the  interieur,  the  body  of  the  coach,  carried  six  passengers  on 


A    START  IN  LIFE.  217 

two  seats ;  and  the  other,  a  sort  of  cab  stuck  on  in  front,  was 
styled  the  coupe.  This  coupe  could  be  closed  by  an  incon- 
venient and  eccentric  arrangement  of  glass  windows,  which 
would  take  too  long  to  describe  in  this  place.  The  four- 
wheeled  coach  also  had  on  top  a  sort  of  gig  with  a  hood,  into 
which  Pierrotin  packed  six  travelers  ;  it  closed  with  leather 
curtains.  Pierrotin  himself  had  an  almost  invisible  perch 
below  the  glass  windows  of  the  coupe. 

The  coach  to  1"  Isle- Adam  only  paid  the  taxes  levied  on 
public  vehicles  for  the  coucou,  represented  to  carry  six  travelers, 
and  whenever  Pierrotin  turned  out  the  "  four-wheeled  coach  " 
he  took  out  a  special  license.  This  may  seem  strange  indeed 
in  these  days ;  but  at  first  the  tax  on  vehicles,  imposed  some- 
what timidly,  allowed  the  owners  of  coaches  to  play  these 
little  tricks,  which  gave  them  the  pleasure  of  "  putting  their 
thumbs  to  their  noses"  behind  the  collector's  back,  as  they 
phrased  it.  By  degrees,  however,  the  hungry  Exchequer  grew 
strict ;  it  allowed  no  vehicle  to  take  the  road  without  display- 
ing the  two  plates  which  now  certify  that  their  capacity  is 
registered  and  the  tax  paid.  Everything,  even  a  tax,  has  its 
age  of  innocence,  and  toward  the  end  of  1822  that  age  was 
not  yet  over.  Very  often,  in  summer,  the  four-wheeled  coach 
and  the  covered  chaise  made  the  journey  in  company,  carry- 
ing in  all  thirty  passengers,  while  Pierrotin  paid  only  for  six. 

On  these  golden  days  the  convoy  started  from  the  Faubourg 
Saint-Denis  at  half-past  four,  and  arrived  in  style  at  1'Isle- 
Adam  by  ten  o'clock  at  night.  And  then  Pierrotin,  proud 
of  his  run,  which  necessitated  the  hire  of  extra  horses,  would 
say  :  "  We  have  made  a  good  pace  to-day  !  "  To  enable  him 
to  do  nine  leagues  in  five  hours  with  this  machinery,  he  did 
not  stop,  as  the  coaches  usually  do  on  this  road,  at  Saint- 
Brice,  Moisselles,  and  la  Cave. 

The  Silver  Lion  occupied  a  plot  of  ground  running  very  far 
back.  Though  the  front  of  the  Rue  Saint-Denis  has  no  more 
than  three  or  four  windows,  there  was  at  that  time,  on  one 


218  A    START  IN  LIFE. 

side  of  the  long  yard,  with  the  stables  at  the  bottom,  a  large 
house  backing  on  the  wall  of  the  adjoining  property.  The 
entrance  was  through  an  arched  way  under  the  second  floor, 
and  there  was  standing-room  here  for  two  or  three  coaches. 
In  1822,  the  booking-office  for  all  the  lines  that  put  up  at  the 
Silver  Lion  was  kept  by  the  innkeeper's  wife,  who  had  a  book 
for  each  line ;  she  took  the  money,  wrote  down  the  names, 
and  good-naturedly  accommodated  passengers'  luggage  in  her 
vast  kitchen.  The  travelers  were  quite  satisfied  with  this  patri- 
archally  free-and-easy  mode  of  business.  If  they  came  too 
early,  they  sat  down  by  the  fire  within  the  immense  chimney- 
place,  or  lounged  in  the  passage,  or  went  to  the  Cafe  de  1'Echi- 
quier,  at  the  corner  of  the  street  of  that  name,  parallel  to  the 
Rue  d'Enghien,  from  which  it  is  divided  by  a  few  houses 
only. 

Quite  early  in  the  autumn  of  that  year,  one  Saturday  morn- 
ing, Pierrotin,  his  hands  stuffed  through  holes  in  his  blouse 
and  into  his  pockets,  was  standing  at  the  front  gate  of  the 
Silver  Lion,  whence  he  had  a  perspective  view  of  the  inn 
kitchen,  and  beyond  it  of  the  long  yard  and  the  stables  at  the 
end,  like  black  caverns.  The  Dammartin  diligence  had  just 
started,  and  was  lumbering  after  Touchard's  coaches.  It  was 
past  eight  o'clock.  Under  the  wide  archway,  over  which  was 
inscribed  on  a  long  board :  HOTEL  DU  LION  D'ARGENT,  the 
stablemen  and  coach-porters  were  watching  the  vehicles  start 
at  the  brisk  pace  which  deludes  the  traveler  into  the  belief 
that  the  horses  will  continue  to  keep  it  up. 

"Shall  I  bring  out  the  horses,  master?"  said  Pierrotin's 
stable-boy,  when  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  seen. 

"A  quarter-past  eight,  and  I  see  no  passengers,"  said  Pier- 
rotin. "  What  the  deuce  is  become  of  them?  Put  the  horses 
to,  all  the  same.  No  parcels  either.  Bless  us  and  save  us ! 
This  afternoon,  now,  he  won't  know  how  to  stow  his  passen- 
gers, as  it  is  so  fine,  and  I  have  only  four  booked.  There's  a 


PIERKOTIN     SAT     DOWN     ON     ONE    OF    THE    ENORMOUS 
CURBSTONES. 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  219 

pretty  lookout  for  a  Saturday !  That's  always  the  way  when 
you're  wanting  the  ready !  It's  dog's  work,  and  work  for  a 
dog!" 

"And  if  you  had  any,  where  would  you  stow  'em?  You 
have  nothing  but  your  two-wheeled  cab,"  said  the  luggage- 
porter,  trying  to  smooth  down  Pierrotin. 

"And  what  about  my  new  coach?" 

"Then  there  is  such  a  thing  as  your  new  coach ?"  asked 
the  sturdy  Auvergnat,  grinning  and  showing  his  front  teeth, 
as  white  and  as  broad  as  almonds. 

"You  old  good-for-nothing  !  Why,  she  will  take  the  road 
to-morrow,  Sunday,  and  we  want  eighteen  passengers  to  fill 
her!" 

"  Oh,  ho  !  A  fine  turn-out ;  that'll  make  the  folk  stare  !  " 
said  the  Auvergnat. 

"A  coach  like  the  one  that  runs  to  Beaumont,  I  can  tell 
you !  Brand  new,  painted  in  red  and  gold,  enough  to  make 
the  Touchards  burst  with  envy !  It  will  take  three  horses.  I 
have  found  a  fellow  to  Rougeot,  and  Bichette  will  trot  unicorn 
like  a  good  'un.  Come,  harness  up,"  said  Pierrotin,  who  was 
looking  toward  the  Porte  Saint-Denis  while  cramming  his 
short  pipe  with  tobacco,  "  I  see  a  lady  out  there,  and  a  little 
man  with  bundles  under  his  arm.  They  are  looking  for  the 
Silver  Lion,  for  they  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  the  coucous 
on  the  stand.  Hey-day,  I  seem  to  know  the  lady  for  a  cus- 
tomer." 

"You  often  get  home  filled  up  after  starting  empty,"  said 
his  man. 

"But  no  parcels!"  replied  Pierrotin.  "By  the  mass! 
What  devil's  luck !" 

And  Pierrotin  sat  down  on  one  of  the  enormous  curbstones 
which  protected  the  lower  part  of  the  wheels  from  the  friction 
of  the  walls,  but  he  wore  an  anxious  and  thoughtful  look  that 
was  not  usual  with  him.  This  dialogue,  apparently  so  trivial, 
had  stirred  up  serious  anxieties  at  the  bottom  of  Pierrotin's 


220  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

heart.  And  what  could  trouble  Pierrotin's  heart  but  the 
thought  of  a  handsome  coach  ?  To  cut  a  dash  on  the  road  to 
rival  the  Touchards,  extend  his  service,  carry  passengers  who 
might  congratulate  him  on  the  increased  convenience  due  to 
the  improvements  in  coach-building,  instead  of  hearing  con- 
stant' complaints  of  his  drags,  this  was  Pierrotin's  laudable 
ambition. 

Now  the  worthy  man,  carried  away  by  his  desire  to  triumph 
over  his  colleague,  and  to  induce  him  some  day  perhaps  to 
leave  him  without  a  competitor  on  the  road  to  1' Isle-Adam, 
had  overstrained  his  resources.  He  had  ordered  his  coach 
from  Farry,  Breilmann  &  Co.,  the  makers  who  had  lately 
introduced  English  coach-springs  in  the  place  of  the  swan's- 
neck  and  other  old-fashioned  French  springs ;  but  these  hard- 
hearted and  mistrustful  makers  would  only  deliver  the  vehicle 
for  ready  cash.  Not  caring,  indeed,  to  build  a  conveyance  so 
unsalable  if  it  were  left  on  their  hands,  these  shrewd  trades- 
men had  not  undertaken  the  job  till  Pierrotin  had  paid  them 
two  thousand  francs  on  account.  To  satisfy  their  justifiable 
requirements,  Pierrotin  had  exhausted  his  savings  and  his 
credit.  He  had  bled  his  wife,  his  father-in-law,  and  his 
friends.  He  had  been  to  look  at  the  superb  vehicle  the  day 
before  in  the  painter's  shop;  it  was  ready,  and  waiting  to  take 
the  road,  but  in  order  to  see  it  there  on  the  following  day  he 
must  pay  up. 

Hence  Pierrotin  was  in  need  of  a  thousand  francs  !  Being 
in  debt  to  the  innkeeper  for  stable-room,  he  dared  not  borrow 
the  sum  of  him.  For  lack  of  this  thousand  francs,  he  risked 
losing  the  two  thousand  already  paid  in  advance,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  five  hundred,  the  cost  of  Rougeot  the  second,  and 
three  hundred  for  new  harness,  for  which,  however,  he  had 
three  months'  credit.  And  yet,  urged  by  the  wrath  of  despair 
and  the  folly  of  vanity,  he  had  just  declared  that  his  coach 
would  start  on  the  morrow,  Sunday.  In  paying  the  fifteen 
hundred  francs  on  account  of  the  two  thousand  five  hundred, 


A    START  IN  LIFE.  221 

he  had  hoped  that  the  coachmakers'  feelings  might  be  touched 
so  far  that  they  would  let  him  have  the  vehicle;  but,  after 
three  minutes'  reflection,  he  exclaimed — 

"  No,  no  !  they  are  sharks,  perfect  skinflints.  Supposing  I 
were  to  apply  to  Monsieur  Moreau,  the  steward  at  Presles — he 
is  such  a  good  fellow,  that  he  would,  perhaps,  take  my  note  of 
hand  at  six  months'  date,"  thought  he,  struck  by  a  new  idea. 

At  this  instant,  a  servant  out  of  livery,  carrying  a  leather 
trunk,  on  coming  across  from  the  Touchards'  office,  where  he 
had  failed  to  find  a  place  vacant  on  the  Chambly  coach  start- 
ing at  one  o'clock,  said  to  the  driver — 

' '  Pierrotin  ?     Is  that  you  ?  " 

"What  then?"  said  Pierrotin. 

"  If  you  can  wait  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  you  can 
carry  my  master;  if  not,  I  will  take  his  portmanteau  back 
again,  and  he  must  make  the  best  of  a  chaise  off  the  stand." 

"  I  will  wait  two — three-quarters  of  an  hour,  and  five 
minutes  more  to  that,  my  lad,"  said  Pierrotin,  with  a  glance 
at  the  smart  little  leather  trunk,  neatly  strapped,  and  fastened 
with  a  brass  lock  engraved  with  a  coat-of-arms. 

"Very  good,  then,  there  you  are,"  said  the  man,  relieving 
his  shoulder  of  the  trunk,  which  Pierrotin  lifted,  weighed  in 
his  hand,  and  scrutinized. 

"Here,"  said  he  to  his  stable-boy,  "pack  it  round  with 
soft  hay,  and  put  it  in  the  boot  at  the  back.  There  is  no 
name  on  it,"  said  he. 

"There  are  monseigneur's  arms,"  replied  the  servant. 

"  Monseigneur  ? — worth  his  weight  in  gold  !  Come  and 
have  a  short  drink,"  said  Pierrotin,  with  a  wink,  as  he  led 
the  way  to  the  Cafe  of  the  Echiquiers.  "Two  absinthes," 
cried  he  to  the  waiter  as  they  went  in.  "But  who  is  your 
master,  and  where  is  he  bound?  I  never  saw  you  before," 
said  Pierrotin  to  the  servant  as  they  clinked  glasses. 

"  And  for  very  good  reasons,"  replied  the  footman.  "  My 
master  does  not  go  your  way  once  a  year,  and  always  then  in 


222  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

his  own  carriage.  He  prefers  the  road  by  the  Orge  valley, 
where  he  has  the  finest  park  near  Paris,  a  perfect  Versailles,  a 
family  estate,  from  which  he  takes  his  name.  Don't  you 
know  Monsieur  Moreau?" 

"The  steward  at  Presles?"  said  Pierrotin. 

"Well,  Monsieur  le  Comte  is  going  to  spend  two  days  at 
Presles." 

"Oh,  ho,  then  my  passenger  is  the  Comte  de  Serizy!" 
cried  Pierrotin. 

"Yes,  my  man,  no  less.  But,  mind,  he  sends  strict  orders. 
If  you  have  any  of  the  people  belonging  to  your  parts  in  your 
chaise,  do  not  mention  the  count's  name ;  he  wants  to  travel 
incognito,  and  desired  me  to  tell  you  so,  and  promise  you  a 
handsome  tip." 

"  Hah  !  and  has  this  hide-and-seek  journey  anything  to  do, 
by  any  chance,  with  the  bargain  that  old  Leger,  the  farmer 
at  les  Moulineaux,  wants  to  make?" 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  the  man ;  "  but  the  fat  is  in  the 
fire.  Last  evening  I  was  sent  to  the  stables  to  order  the 
chaise  a  la  Daumontj*  by  seven  this  morning,  to  drive  to 
Presles ;  but  at  seven  my  master  countermanded  it.  Augustin, 
his  valet,  ascribes  this  change  of  plan  to  the  visit  of  a  lady, 
who  seemed  to  have  come  from  the  country." 

"  Can  any  one  have  had  anything  to  say  against  Monsieur 
Moreau?  The  best  of  men,  the  most  honest,  the  king  of 
men,  I  say !  He  might  have  made  a  deal  more  money  than 
he  has  done  if  he  had  chosen,  take  my  word  for  it " 

"Then  he  was  very  foolish,"  said  the  servant  sententiously. 

"  Then  Monsieur  de  Serizy  is  going  to  live  at  Presles  at 
last?  The  castle  has  been  refurnished  and  done  up,"  said 
Pierrotin  after  a  pause.  "Is  it  true  that  two  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  have  been  spent  on  it  already?" 

"  If  you  or  I  had  the  money  that  has  been  spent  there,  we 
could  set  up  in  the  world.  If  Madame  la  Comtesse  goes 
*  A  carriage  known  by  this  name. 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  223 

down  there,  the  Moreaus'  fun  will  be  over,"  added  the  man, 
with  mysterious  significance. 

"A  good  man  is  Monsieur  Moreau,"  repeated  Pierrotin, 
who  was  still  thinking  of  borrowing  the  thousand  francs  from 
the  steward;  "a  man  that  makes  his  men  work,  and  does  not 
spare  them ;  who  gets  all  the  profit  out  of  the  land,  and  for 
his  master's  benefit  too.  A  good  man  !  He  often  comes  to 
Paris,  and  always  by  my  coach  ;  he  gives  me  something  hand- 
some for  myself,  and  always  has  a  lot  of  parcels  to  and  fro. 
Three  or  four  a  day,  sometimes  for  monsieur  and  sometimes 
for  madame ;  a  bill  of  fifty  francs  a  month,  say,  only  on  the 
carrier's  score.  Though  madame  holds  her  head  a  little 
above  her  place,  she  is  fond  of  her  children ;  I  take  them 
to  school  for  her  and  bring  them  home  again.  And  she 
always  gives  me  five  francs,  and  your  biggest  pot  would  not 
do  more.  And  whenever  I  have  any  one  from  them  or  to 
them,  I  always  drive  right  up  to  the  gates  of  the  house — I 
could  not  do  less,  now,  could  I?" 

"They  say  that  Monsieur  Moreau  had  no  more  than  a 
thousand  crowns  in  the  world  when  Monsieur  le  Comte  put 
him  in  as  land  steward  at  Presles,"  said  the  loquacious  man- 
servant. 

"But  in  seventeen  years'  time — since  1806 — the  man  must 
have  made  something,"  replied  Pierrotin. 

"To  be  sure,"  said  the  servant,  shaking  his  head.  "And 
masters  are  queer  too.  I  hope,  for  Moreau' s  sake,  that  he  has 
feathered  his  nest." 

"  I  often  deliver  hampers  at  your  house  in  the  Chaussee- 
d'Antin,"  said  Pierrotin,  "but  I  have  never  had  the  privilege 
of  seeing  either  the  master  or  his  lady." 

"Monsieur  le  Comte  is  a  very  good  sort,"  said  the  man 
confidentially;  "but  if  he  wants  you  to  hold  your  tongue 
about  his  cognito,  there  is  a  screw  loose  you  may  depend. 
At  least,  that  is  what  we  think  at  home.  For  why  else  should  he 
counterorder  the  traveling  carriage?  Why  ride  in  a  public 


224  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

chaise?  A  peer  of  France  might  take  a  hired  chaise,  you 
would  think." 

"  A  hired  chaise  might  cost  him  as  much  as  forty  francs  for 
the  double  journey;  for,  I  can  tell,  if  you  don't  know  our 
road,  it  is  fit  for  squirrels  to  climb.  Everlastingly  up  and 
down!"  said  Pierrotin.  "Peer  of  France  or  tradesman, 
everybody  looks  at  both  sides  of  a  five-franc  piece.  If  this 
trip  means  mischief  to  Monsieur  Moreau — dear,  dear,  I  should 
be  vexed  indeed  if  any  harm  came  to  him.  By  the  mass ! 
Can  no  way  be  found  of  warning  him?  For  he  is  a  real 
good  'un,  an  honest  sort,  the  king  of  men,  I  say " 

"  Pooh !  Monsieur  le  Comte  is  much  attached  to  Monsieur 
Moreau,"  said  the  other.  "  But  if  you  will  take  a  bit  of  good 
advice  from  me,  mind  your  own  business,  and  let  him  mind 
his.  We  all  have  quite  enough  to  do  to  take  care  of  ourselves. 
You  just  do  what  you  are  asked  to  do  ;  all  the  more  because 
it  does  not  pay  to  play  fast  and  loose  with  monseigneur. 
Add  to  that,  the  count  is  generous.  If  you  oblige  him  that 
much,"  said  the  man,  measuring  off  the  nail  of  one  finger, 
"  he  will  reward  you  that  much,"  and  he  stretched  out  his 
arm. 

This  judicious  hint,  and  yet  more  the  illustrative  figure, 
coming  from  a  man  so  high  in  office  as  the  Comte  de  Serizy's 
second  footman,  had  the  effect  of  cooling  Pierrotin's  zeal  for 
the  steward  of  Presles. 

"Well,  good-day,  Monsieur  Pierrotin,"  said  the  man. 

A  short  sketch  of  the  previous  history  of  the  Comte  de 
Serizy  and  his  steward  is  here  necessary  to  explain  the  little 
drama  about  to  be  played  in  Pierrotin's  coach. 

Monsieur  Hugret  de  Serizy  is  descended  in  a  direct  line 
from  the  famous  President  Hugret,  ennobled  by  Francis  the 
First.  They  bear  as  arms  party  per  pale  or  and  sable,  an 
orle  and  two  lozenges  counterchanged.  Motto,  /  semper 
melius  en's,  which,  like  the  two  distaffs  assumed  as  supporters, 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  225 

shows  the  modest  pretense  of  the  citizen  class  at  a  time  when 
each  rank  of  society  had  its  own  place  in  the  State,  and  also 
the  artlessness  of  the  age  in  the  punning  motto,  where  eris 
with  the  /at  the  beginning,  and  the  final  6"  of  melius,  repre- 
sent the  name,  Serisi,  of  the  estate,  whence  the  title. 

The  present  count's  father  was  a  president  of  Parliament 
before  the  Revolution.  He  himself,  a  member  of  the  High 
Council  of  State  in  1787,  at  the  early  age  of  two-and-twenty, 
was  favorably  known  for  certain  reports  on  some  delicate 
matters.  He  did  not  emigrate  during  the  Revolution,  but 
remained  on  his  lands  of  Serizy,  near  Arpajon,  where  the 
respect  felt  for  his  father  protected  him  from  molestation. 

After  spending  a  few  years  in  nursing  the  old  president, 
whom  he  lost  in  1794,  he  was  elected  to  the  Council  of  Five 
Hundred,  and  took  up  his  legislative  functions  as  a  distraction 
from  his  grief. 

After  the  eighteenth  Brumaire,  Monsieur  de  Serizy  became 
the  object — as  did  all  the  families  connected  with  the  old 
Parliament — of  the  First  Consul's  attentions,  and  by  him  he 
was  appointed  a  councilor  of  State  to  reorganize  one  of  the 
most  disorganized  branches  of  the  administration.  Thus  this 
scion  of  a  great  historical  family  became  one  of  the  most 
important  wheels  in  the  vast  and  admirable  machinery  due  to 
Napoleon.  The  State  councilor  ere  long  left  his  depart- 
ment to  be  made  a  minister.  The  Emperor  created  him 
count  and  senator,  and  he  was  proconsul  to  two  different 
kingdoms  in  succession. 

In  1806,  at  the  age  of  forty,  he  married  the  sister  of  the 
one-time  Marquis  de  Ronquerolles,  and  widow,  at  the  age  of 
twenty,  of  Gaubert,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  the 
Republican  generals,  who  left  her  all  his  wealth.  This  match, 
suitable  in  point  of  rank,  doubled  the  Comte  de  Serizy's 
already  considerable  fortune ;  he  was  now  the  brother-in-law 
of  the  ci-devant  Marquis  de  Rouvre,  whom  Napoleon  created 
count  and  appointed  to  be  his  chamberlain. 
35 


226  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

In  1814,  worn  out  with  incessant  work,  Monsieur  de  Serizy 
whose  broken  health  needed  rest,  gave  up  all  his  appoint- 
ments, left  the  district  of  which  Napoleon  had  made  him 
governor,  and  came  to  Paris,  where  the  Emperor  was  com- 
pelled by  ocular  evidence  to  concede  his  claims.  This  inde- 
fatigable master,  who  could  not  believe  in  fatigue  in  other 
people,  had  at  first  supposed  the  necessity  that  prompted  the 
Comte  de  Serizy  to  be  simple  defection.  Though  the  senator 
was  not  in  disgrace,  it  was  said  that  he  had  cause  for  com- 
plaint of  Napoleon.  Consequently,  when  the  Bourbons  came 
back,  Louis  XVIII.,  whom  Monsieur  de  Serizy  acknowledged 
as  his  legitimate  sovereign,  granted  to  the  senator,  now  a  peer 
of  France,  the  highly  confidential  post  of  steward  of  his  privy 
purse,  and  made  him  a  minister  of  State. 

On  the  2oth  March,  Monsieur  de  S6rizy  did  not  follow  the 
King  to  Ghent ;  he  made  it  known  to  Napoleon  that  he  re- 
mained faithful  to  the  House  of  Bourbon,  and  accepted  no 
peerage  during  the  Hundred  Days,  but  spent  that  brief  reign 
on  his  estate  of  Serizy.  After  the  Emperor's  second  fall,  the 
count  naturally  resumed  his  seat  in  the  Privy  Council,  was  one 
of  the  Council  of  State,  and  liquidator  on  behalf  of  France 
in  the  settlement  of  the  indemnities  demanded  by  foreign 
powers. 

He  had  no  love  of  personal  magnificence,  no  ambition 
even,  but  exerted  great  influence  in  public  affairs.  No  import- 
ant political  step  was  ever  taken  without  his  being  consulted, 
but  he  never  went  to  court,  and  was  seldom  seen  in  his  own 
drawing-room.  His  noble  life,  devoted  to  work  from  the 
first,  ended  by  being  perpetual  work  and  nothing  else.  The 
count  rose  at  four  in  the  morning  in  all  seasons,  worked  till 
midday,  then  took  up  his  duties  as  a  peer,  or  as  vice-president 
of  the  Council,  and  went  to  bed  at  nine. 

Monsieur  de  Serizy  had  long  worn  the  grand  cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor;  he  also  had  the  orders  of  the  Golden 
Fleece,  of  Saint  Andrew  of  Russia,  of  the  Prussian  Eagle  ;  in 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  227 

short,  almost  every  order  of  the  European  Courts.  No  one  was 
less  conspicuous  or  more  valuable  than  he  in  the  world  of 
politics.  As  may  be  supposed,  to  a  man  of  his  temper  the 
flourish  of  court  favor  and  worldly  success  were  a  matter  of 
indifference. 

But  no  man,  unless  he  is  a  priest,  can  live  such  a  life  with- 
out some  strong  motive ;  and  his  mysterious  conduct  had  its 
key — a  cruel  one.  The  count  had  loved  his  wife  before  he 
married  her,  and  in  him  this  passion  had  withstood  all  the 
domestic  discomforts  of  matrimony  with  a  widow  who  re- 
mained mistress  of  herself,  after  as  well  as  before  her  second 
marriage,  and  who  took  all  the  more  advantage  of  her  liberty 
because  Monsieur  de  Serizy  indulged  her  as  a  mother  indulges 
a  spoilt  child.  Incessant  work  served  him  as  a  shield  against 
his  heart-felt  woes,  buried  with  the  care  that  a  man  engaged 
in  politics  takes  to  hide  such  secrets.  And  he  fully  understood 
how  ridiculous  jealousy  would  be  in  the  eyes  of  the  world, 
which  would  certainly  never  have  admitted  the  possibility  of 
conjugal  passion  in  a  time-worn  official. 

How  was  it  that  his  wife  had  thus  bewitched  him  from  the 
first  days  of  marriage  ?  Why  had  he  suffered  in  those  early 
days  without  taking  his  revenge  ?  Why  did  he  no  longer  dare 
to  be  revenged  ?  And  why,  deluded  by  hope,  had  he  allowed 
time  to  slip  away?  By  what  means  had  his  young,  pretty, 
clever  wife  reduced  him  to  subjection  ?  The  answer  to  these 
questions  would  require  a  long  story,  out  of  place  in  this 
"Scene,"  and  women,  if  not  men,  may  be  able  to  guess  it. 
At  the  same  time,  it  may  be  observed  that  the  count's  inces- 
sant work  and  many  sorrows  had  unfortunately  done  much  to 
deprive  him  of  the  advantages  indispensable  to  a  man  who  has 
to  compete  with  unfavorable  comparisons.  The  saddest,  per- 
haps, of  all  the  count's  secrets  was  the  fact  that  his  wife's  repul- 
sion was  partly  justified  by  ailments  which  he  owed  entirely  to 
overwork.  Kind,  nay,  more  than  kind,  to  his  wife,  he  made  her 
mistress  of  herself  and  house;  she  received  all  Paris,  she  went 


228  A   START  IN  LIFE, 

into  the  country,  or  she  came  back  again,  precisely  as  though 
she  were  still  a  widow ;  he  took  care  of  her  money,  and  sup- 
plied her  luxuries  as  if  he  had  been  her  agent. 

The  countess  held  her  husband  in  the  highest  esteem ;  in- 
deed, she  liked  his  turn  of  wit.  Her  approbation  could  give 
him  pleasure,  and  thus  she  could  do  what  she  liked  with  the 
poor  man  by  sitting  and  chatting  with  him  for  an  hour.  Like 
the  great  nobles  of  former  days,  the  count  so  effectually  pro- 
tected his  wife  that  he  would  have  regarded  any  slur  cast 
«n  her  reputation  as  an  unpardonable  insult  to  himself.  The 
world  greatly  admired  his  character,  and  Madame  de  Serizy 
owed  much  to  her  husband.  Any  other  woman,  even  though 
she  belonged  to  so  distinguishd  a  family  as  that  of  Ronque- 
rolles,  might  have  found  herself  disgraced  for  ever.  The 
countess  was  very  ungrateful — but  charming  in  her  ingratitude. 
Yet  from  time  to  time  she  would  pour  a  balm  on  the  count's 
heart-wounds. 

We  must  now  explain  the  cause  of  the  minister's  hurried 
journey  and  wish  to  remain  unknown. 

A  rich  farmer  of  Beaumont-sur-Oise,  named  Leger,  held  a 
farm  of  which  the  various  portions  were  all  fractions  of  the 
estate  owned  by  the  count,  thus  impairing  the  splendid  prop- 
erty of  Presles.  The  farm-lands  belonged  to  a  townsman  of 
Beaumont-sur-Oise,  one  Margueron.  The  lease  he  had  granted 
to  Leger  in  1799,  at  a  ^me  wnen  tne  advance  since  made  in 
agriculture  could  not  be  foreseen,  was  nearly  run  out,  and  the 
owner  had  refused  Lexer's  terms  for  renewing  it.  Long  since, 
Monsieur  de  S6rizy,  wanting  to  be  quit  of  the  worry  and 
squabbling  that  come  of  such  inclosed  plots,  had  hoped  to  be 
able  to  buy  the  farm,  having  heard  that  Monsieur  Margueron's 
sole  ambition  was  to  see  his  only  son,  a  modest  official,  pro- 
moted to  be  collector  of  the  revenue  at  Senlis. 

Moreau  had  hinted  to  his  master  that  he  had  a  dangerous 
rival  in  the  person  of  old  Leger.  The  farmer,  knowing  that 
he  could  run  up  the  land  to  a  high  price  by  selling  it  piece- 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  229 

meal  to  the  count,  was  capable  of  paying  a  sum  so  high  as  to 
outbid  the  profit  derivable  from  the  collectorship  to  be  be- 
stowed on  the  younger  Margueron.  Two  days  since,  the 
count,  who  wanted  to  have  done  with  the  matter,  had  sent  for 
his  notary,  Alexandre  Crottat,  and  Derville  his  solicitor,  to 
inquire  into  the  state  of  the  affair.  Though  Crottat  and  Der- 
ville cast  doubts  on  the  steward's  zeal — and,  indeed,  it  was  a 
puzzling  letter  from  him  that  gave  rise  to  this  consultation — 
the  count  defended  Moreau,  who  had,  he  said,  served  him 
faithfully  for  seventeen  years. 

"  Well,"  Derville  replied,  "  I  can  only  advise  your  lordship 
to  go  in  person  to  Presles  and  ask  this  Margueron  to  dinner. 
Crottat  will  send  down  his  head-clerk  with  a  form  of  sale  ready 
drawn  out,  leaving  blank  pages  or  lines  for  the  insertion  of 
descriptions  of  the  plots  and  the  necessary  titles.  Your  excel- 
lency will  do  well  to  go  provided  with  a  cheque  for  part  of  the 
purchase-money  in  case  of  need,  and  not  to  forget  the  letter 
appointing  the  son  to  the  collectorship  at  Senlis.  If  you  do 
not  strike  on  the  nail,  the  farm  will  slip  through  your  fingers. 
You  have  no  idea,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  of  peasant  cunning. 
Given  a  peasant  on  one  side  and  a  diplomatist  on  the  other, 
the  peasant  will  win  the  day." 

Crottat  confirmed  this  advice,  which,  from  the  footman's 
report  to  Pierrotin,  the  count  had  evidently  adopted.  On  the 
day  before,  the  count  had  sent  a  note  to  Moreau  by  the  Beau- 
mont diligence,  desiring  him  to  invite  Margueron  to  dinner, 
as  he  meant  to  come  to  some  conclusion  concerning  the 
Moulineaux  farm-lands. 

Before  all  this,  the  count  had  given  orders  for  the  restora- 
tion of  the  living-rooms  at  Presles,  and  Monsieur  Grindot,  a 
fashionable  architect,  went  down  there  once  a  week.  So, 
while  treating  for  his  acquisition,  Monsieur  de  Serizy  pro- 
posed inspecting  the  works  at  the  same  time  and  the  effect  of 
the  new  decorations.  He  intended  to  give  his  wife  a  surprise 
by  taking  her  to  Presles,  and  the  restoration  of  the  castle  was 


230  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

a  matter  of  pride  to  him.  What  event,  then,  could  have  hap- 
pened that  the  count,  who,  only  the  day  before,  was  intend- 
ing to  go  overtly  to  Presles,  should  now  wish  to  travel  thither 
incognito,  in  Pierrotin's  chaise? 

Here  a  few  words  are  necessary  as  to  the  antecedent  history 
of  the  steward  at  Presles. 

This  man,  Moreau,  was  the  son  of  a  proctor  in  a  provincial 
town,  who  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution  had  been  made  a 
magistrate  (jtrocureur-syndic)  at  Versailles.  In  this  position 
the  elder  Moreau  had  been  largely  instrumental  in  saving  the 
property  and  life  of  the  Serizys,  father  and  son.  Citizen 
Moreau  had  belonged  to  the  party  of  Danton;  Robespierre, 
implacable  in  revenge,  hunted  him  down,  caught  him,  and 
had  him  executed  at  Versailles.  The  younger  Moreau,  in- 
heriting his  father's  doctrines  and  attachments,  got  mixed  up 
in  one  of  the  conspiracies  plotted  against  the  First  Consul  on 
his  accession  to  power.  Then  Monsieur  de  Serizy,  anxious  to 
pay  a  debt  of  gratitude,  succeeded  in  effecting  Moreau's  escape 
after  he  was  condemned  to  death;  in  1804  he  asked  and  ob- 
tained his  pardon  ;  he  at  first  found  him  a  place  in  his  office, 
and  afterward  made  him  his  secretary  and  manager  of  his 
private  affairs. 

Some  time  after  his  patron's  marriage,  Moreau  fell  in  love 
with  the  countess'  maid  and  married  her.  To  avoid  the  un- 
pleasantly false  position  in  which  he  was  placed  by  this  union 
— and  there  were  many  such  at  the  Imperial  Court — he  asked 
to  be  appointed  land  steward  at  Presles,  where  his  wife  could 
play  the  lady,  and  where,  in  a  neighborhood  of  small  folk, 
they  would  neither  of  them  be  hurt  in  their  own  conceits. 
The  count  needed  a  faithful  agent  at  Presles,  because  his  wife 
preferred  to  reside  at  Se'rizy,  which  is  no  more  than  five 
leagues  from  Paris.  Moreau  was  familiar  with  all  his  affairs, 
and  he  was  intelligent ;  before  the  Revolution  he  had  studied 
law  under  his  father.  So  Monsieur  de  S£rizy  said  to  him — 

"  You  will  not  make  a  fortune,  for  you  have  tied  a  millstone 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  231 

around  your  neck ;  but  you  will  be  well  off,  for  I  will  provide 
for  that." 

And,  in  fact,  the  count  gave  Moreau  a  fixed  salary  of  a 
thousand  crowns,  and  a  pretty  little  lodge  to  live  in  beyond 
the  outbuildings ;  he  also  allowed  him  so  many  cords  of  wood 
a  year  out  of  the  plantations  for  fuel,  so  much  straw,  oats,  and 
hay  for  two  horses,  and  a  certain  proportion  of  the  payments 
in  kind.  A  sub-prefect  is  less  well  off. 

During  the  first  eight  years  of  his  stewardship,  Moreau 
managed  the  estate  conscientiously,  and  took  an  interest  in 
his  work.  The  count,  when  he  came  down  to  inspect  the 
domain,  to  decide  on  purchases  or  sanction  improvements, 
was  struck  by  Moreau's  faithful  service,  and  showed  his  appro- 
bation by  handsome  presents.  But  when  Moreau  found  him- 
self the  father  of  a  girl — his  third  child — he  was  so  completely 
established  at  his  ease  at  Presles  that  he  forgot  how  greatly 
he  was  indebted  to  Monsieur  de  Serizy  for  such  unusually 
liberal  advantages.  Thus  in  1816,  the  steward,  who  had 
hitherto  done  no  more  than  help  himself  freely,  accepted 
from  a  wood-merchant  a  bonus  of  twenty-five  thousand  francs, 
with  the  promise  of  a  rise,  for  signing  an  agreement  for 
twelve  years  allowing  the  contractor  to  cut  fire-logs  in  the 
woods  of  Presles.  Moreau  argued  thus  :  He  had  no  promise 
of  a  pension  ;  he  was  the  father  of  a  family ;  the  count  cer- 
tainly owed  him  so  much  by  way  of  premium  on  nearly  ten 
years'  service.  He  was  already  lawfully  possessed  of  sixty 
thousand  francs  in  savings ;  with  this  sum  added  to  it  he 
could  purchase  for  a  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  a  farm  in 
the  vicinity  of  Champagne,  a  hamlet  on  the  right  bank  of  the 
Oise  a  little  way  above  1' Isle-Adam. 

The  stir  of  politics  hindered  the  count  and  the  country- 
folk from  taking  cognizance  of  this  investment ;  the  business 
was  indeed  transacted  in  the  name  of  Madame  Moreau,  who 
was  supposed  to  have  come  into  some  money  from  an  old 
great-aunt  in  her  own  part  of  the  country,  at  Saint-L6. 


232  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

When  once  the  steward  had  tasted  the  delicious  fruits  of 
ownership,  though  his  conduct  was  still  apparently  honesty 
itself,  he  never  missed  an  opportunity  of  adding  to  his  clan- 
destine wealth ;  the  interests  of  his  three  children  served  as 
an  emollient  to  quench  the  ardors  of  his  honesty,  and  we  must 
do  him  the  justice  to  say  that  while  he  was  open  to  a  bribe, 
took  care  of  himself  in  concluding  a  bargain,  and  strained  his 
rights  to  the  last  point,  he  was  still  honest  in  the  eye  of  the 
law;  no  proof  could  have  been  brought  in  support  of  any 
accusation.  According  to  the  jurisprudence  of  the  least  dis- 
honest of  Paris  cooks,  he  shared  with  his  master  the  profits 
due  to  his  sharp  practice.  This  way  of  making  a  fortune  was 
a  matter  of  conscience — nothing  more.  Energetic,  and  fully 
alive  to  the  count's  interests,  Moreau  looked  out  all  the  more 
keenly  for  good  opportunities  of  driving  a  bargain,  since  he 
was  sure  of  a  handsome  douceur.  Presles  was  worth  sixty-two 
thousand  francs  in  cash  rents ;  and  throughout  the  district, 
for  ten  leagues  round,  the  saying  was,  "  Monsieur  de  Serizy 
has  a  second  self  in  Moreau  !  " 

Moreau,  like  a  prudent  man,  had,  since  1817,  invested  his 
salary  and  his  profits  year  by  year  in  the  Funds,  feathering  his 
nest  in  absolute  secrecy.  He  had  refused  various  business 
speculations  on  the  plea  of  want  of  money,  and  affected  pov- 
erty so  well  to  the  count  that  he  had  obtained  two  scholar- 
ships for  his  boys  at  the  College  Henri  IV.  And,  at  this 
moment,  Moreau  owned  a  hundred  and  twenty  thousand 
francs  in  reduced  consols,  then  paying  five  per  cent.,  and 
quoted  at  eighty.  These  unacknowledged  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  francs,  and  his  farm  at  Champagne,  to  which  he  had 
made  additions,  amounted  to  a  fortune  of  about  two  hundred 
and  eighty  thousand  francs,  yielding  an  income  of  sixteen 
thousand  francs  a  year. 

This,  then,  was  the  steward's  position  at  the  time  when  the 
count  wished  to  purchase  the  farm  of  les  Moulineaux,  of  which 
the  possession  had  become  indispensable  to  his  comfort.  This 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  233 

farm  comprehended  ninety-six  plots  of  land,  adjoining,  bor- 
dering, and  marching  with  the  estate  of  Presles,  in  many  cases 
indeed  completely  surrounded  by  the  count's  property,  like  a 
square  in  the  middle  of  a  chess-board,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
dividing  hedges  and  ditches,  which  gave  rise  to  constant  dis- 
putes when  a  tree  was  to  be  cut  down  if  it  stood  on  debatable 
ground.  Any  other  Minister  of  State  would  have  fought 
twenty  lawsuits  a  year  over  the  lands  of  les  Moulineaux. 

Old  Leger  wanted  to  buy  them  only  to  sell  to  the  count ; 
and  to  make  the  thirty  or  forty  thousand  francs  of  profit  he 
hoped  for,  he  had  long  been  endeavoring  to  come  to  terms 
with  Moreau.  Only  three  days  before  this  critical  Saturday, 
Farmer  Leger,  driven  by  press  of  circumstances,  had,  standing 
out  in  the  fields,  clearly  demonstrated  to  the  steward  how  he 
could  invest  the  Comte  de  Serizy's  money  at  two  and  a  half 
per  cent,  in  purchasing  other  plots ;  that  is  to  say,  could,  as 
usual,  seem  to  be  serving  the  count's  interests  while  pocketing 
the  bonus  of  forty  thousand  francs  offered  him  on  the  trans- 
action. 

"And  on  my  honor,"  said  the  steward  to  his  wife  as  they 
went  to  bed  that  evening,  "if  I  can  make  fifty  thousand 
francs  on  the  purchase  of  les  Moulineaux — for  the  count  will 
give  me  ten  thousand  at  least — we  will  retire  to  1' Isle-Adam, 
to  the  Pavilion  de  Nogent." 

This  pavilion  is  a  charming  little  house  built  for  a  mistress 
by  the  Prince  de  Conti  in  a  style  of  prodigal  elegance  and 
with  every  convenience. 

"  I  should  like  that,"  said  his  wife.  "  The  Dutchman  who 
has  been  living  there  has  done  it  up  very  handsomely,  and  he 
will  let  us  have  it  for  thirty  thousand  francs,  since  he  is 
obliged  to  go  back  to  the  Indies." 

"  It  is  but  a  stone's  throw  from  Champagne,"  Moreau  went 
on.  "  I  have  hopes  of  being  able  to  buy  the  farm  and  mill 
at  Mours  for  a  hundred  thousand  francs.  We  should  thus 
have  ten  thousand  francs  a  year  out  of  land,  one  of  the  pret- 


234  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

tiest  places  in  all  the  valley,  close  to  our  farm  lands,  and  six 
thousand  francs  a  year  still  in  the  Funds." 

"And  why  should  you  not  apply  to  be  appointed  justice  of 
the  peace  at  1'Isle-Adam?  It  would  give  us  importance  and 
fifteen  hundred  francs  a  year  more." 

"Yes,  I  have  thought  of  that." 

In  this  frame  of  mind,  on  learning  that  his  patron  was 
coming  to  Presles,  and  wished  him  to  invite  Margueron  to 
dinner  on  Saturday,  Moreau  at  once  sent  off  a  messenger,  who 
delivered  a  note  to  the  count's  valet  too  late  in  the  evening 
for  it  to  be  delivered  to  Monsieur  de  Serizy  -,  but  Augustin 
'laid  it,  as  was  usual,  on  his  master's  desk.  In  this  letter 
Moreau  begged  the  count  not  to  take  so  much  trouble;  to 
leave  the  matter  to  his  management.  By  his  account  Mar- 
gueron no  longer  wished  to  sell  the  lands  in  one  lot,  but 
talked  of  dividing  the  farm  into  ninety-six  plots.  This,  at 
any  rate,  he  must  be  persuaded  to  give  up ;  and  perhaps,  said 
the  steward,  it  might  be  necessary  to  find  some  one  to  lend 
his  name  as  a  screen. 

Now,  everybody  has  enemies.  The  steward  of  Presles  and 
his  wife  had  given  offense  to  a  retired  officer  named  de  Rey- 
bert  and  his  wife.  From  stinging  words  and  pin-pricks  they 
had  come  to  daggers  drawn.  Monsieur  de  Reybert  breathed 
nothing  but  vengeance ;  he  aimed  at  getting  Moreau  deposed 
from  his  place  and  filling  it  himself.  These  two  ideas  were 
twins.  Hence  the  agent's  conduct,  narrowly  watched  for 
two  years  past,  had  no  secrets  from  the  Reyberts.  At  the 
very  time  when  Moreau  was  dispatching  his  letter  to  Monsieur 
de  Serizy,  Reybert  had  sent  his  wife  to  Paris.  Madame  de 
Reybert  so  strongly  insisted  on  seeing  the  count,  that,  being 
refused  at  nine  in  the  evening,  when  he  was  going  to  bed,  she 
was  shown  into  his  study  by  seven  o'clock  next  morning. 

"  Monseigneur,"  said  she  to  the  Minister,  "my  husband 
and  I  are  incapable  of  writing  an  anonymous  letter.  I  am 
Madame  de  Reybert,  nee  de  Corroy.  My  husband  has  a  pen- 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  235 

sion  of  no  more  than  six  hundred  francs  a  year,  and  we  live 
at  Presles,  where  your  land  steward  exposes  us  to  insult  upon 
insult  though  we  are  gentlefolk.  Monsieur  de  Reybert,  who 
has  no  love  of  intrigue — far  from  it ! — retired  as  a  Captain  of 
Artillery  in  1816  after  twenty  years'  service,  but  he  never  came 
under  the  Emperor's  eye,  Monsieur  le  Comte ;  and  you  must 
know  how  slowly  promotion  came  to  those  who  did  not  serve 
under  the  Master  himself;  and,  beside,  my  husband's  honesty 
and  plain  speaking  did  not  please  his  superiors. 

"  For  three  years  my  husband  has  been  watching  your 
steward  for  the  purpose  of  depriving  him  of  his  place.  We 
are  outspoken,  you  see.  Moreau  has  made  us  his  enemies, 
and  we  have  kept  our  eyes  open.  I  have  come  therefore  to 
tell  you  that  you  are  being  tricked  in  this  business  of  the 
Moulineaux  farm  lands.  You  are  to  be  cheated  of  a  hundred 
thousand  francs,  which  will  be  shared  between  the  notary, 
Leger,  and  Moreau.  You  have  given  orders  that  Margueron 
is  to  be  asked  to  dinner,  and  you  intend  to  go  to  Presles 
to-morrow ;  but  Margueron  will  be  ill,  and  Leger  is  so  con- 
fident of  getting  the  farm  that  he  is  in  Paris  realizing  enough 
capital.  As  we  have  enlightened  you,  if  you  want  an  honest 
agent,  engage  my  husband.  Though  of  noble  birth,  he  will 
serve  you  as  he  served  his  country.  Your  steward  has  made 
and  saved  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs,  so  he  is  not 
to  be  pitied." 

The  count  thanked  Madame  de  Reybert  very  coldly  and 
answered  her  with  curt  speeches,  for  he  greatly  detested  an 
informer;  still,  as  he  remembered  Derville's  suspicions,  he 
was  shaken  in  his  mind,  and  then  his  eye  fell  on  Moreau's 
letter ;  he  read  it,  and  in  those  assurances  of  devotion,  and 
the  respectful  remonstrances  as  to  the  want  of  confidence 
implied  by  his  intention  of  conducting  this  business  himself, 
he  saw  the  truth  about  Moreau. 

"Corruption  has  come  with  wealth,  as  usual,"  said  he  to 
himself. 


236  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

He  had  questioned  Madame  de  Reybert  less  to  ascertain 
the  details  than  to  give  himself  time  to  study  her,  and  he  had 
then  written  a  line  to  his  notary  to  desire  him  not  to  send  his 
clerk  to  Presles,  but  to  go  there  himself  and  meet  him  at 
dinner. 

"If  you  should  have  formed  a  bad  opinion  of  me,  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte,  for  the  step  I  have  taken  unknown  to  my  hus- 
band," said  Madame  Reybert  in  conclusion,  "you  must  at 
least  be  convinced  that  we  have  obtained  our  knowledge  as 
concerning  your  steward  by  perfectly  natural  means ;  the 
most  sensitive  conscience  can  find  nothing  to  blame  us  for." 

Madame  de  Reybert  nee  de  Corroy  held  herself  as  straight 
as  a  pikestaff. 

The  count's  rapid  survey  took  in  a  face  pitted  by  the  small- 
pox till  it  looked  like  a  colander,  a  lean,  flat  figure,  a  pair  of 
eager,  light-colored  eyes,  fair  curls  flattened  on  an  anxious 
brow,  a  faded  green  silk  bonnet  lined  with  pink,  a  white  stuff 
dress  with  lilac  spots,  and  kid  shoes.  Monsieur  de  Serizy  dis- 
cerned in  her  the  wife  of  the  poor  gentleman  ;  some  Puri- 
tanical soul  subscribing  to  the  French  "  Courrier,"  glowing 
with  virtue,  but  very  well  aware  of  the  advantages  of  a  fixed 
place,  and  coveting  it. 

"  A  pension  of  six  hundred  francs,  you  said  ?  "  replied  the 
count,  answering  himself  rather  than  Madame  de  Reybert' s 
communication. 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Comte." 

"  You  were  a  de  Corroy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  of  a  noble  family  of  the  Messin  country, 
my  husband's  country." 

"And  in  what  regiment  was  Monsieur  de  Reybert?" 

"In  the  yth  Artillery." 

"  Good  !  "  said  the  count,  writing  down  the  number. 

He  thought  he  might  very  well  place  the  management  of 
the  estate  in  the  hands  of  a  retired  officer,  concerning  whom 
he  could  get  the  fullest  information  at  the  War  Office. 


A  START  IN  LIFE.  237 

"  Madame,"  he  went  on,  ringing  for  his  valet,  "  return  to 
Presles  with  my  notary,  who  is  to  arrange  to  dine  there  to- 
night, and  to  whom  I  have  written  a  line  of  introduction ; 
this  is  his  address.  I  am  going  to  Presles  myself,  but  secretly, 
and  will  let  Monsieur  de  Reybert  know  when  to  call  on  me." 

So  it  was  not  a  false  alarm  that  had  startled  Pierrotin  with 
the  news  of  Monsieur  de  Serizy's  journey  in  a  public  chaise, 
and  the  warning  to  keep  his  name  a  secret ;  he  foresaw  immi- 
nent danger  about  to  fall  on  one  of  his  best  customers. 

On  coming  out  of  the  cafe,  Pierrotin  perceived,  at  the  gate 
of  the  Silver  Lion,  the  woman  and  youth  whom  his  acumen 
had  recognized  as  travelers ;  for  the  lady,  with  outstretched 
neck  and  an  anxious  face,  was  evidently  looking  for  him. 
This  lady,  in  a  re-dyed  black  silk,  a  gray  bonnet,  and  an  old 
French  cashmere  shawl,  shod  in  open-work  silk  stockings  and 
kid  shoes,  held  a  flat  straw  basket  and  a  bright  blue  umbrella. 
She  had  once  been  handsome,  and  now  looked  about  forty ; 
and  her  blue  eyes,  bereft  of  the  sparkle  that  happiness  might 
have  given  them,  showed  that  she  had  long  since  renounced 
the  world.  Her  dress  no  less  than  her  person  betrayed  a 
mother  entirely  given  up  to  her  housekeeping  and  her  son. 
If  the  bonnet-strings  were  shabby,  the  shape  of  it  dated  from 
three  years  back.  Her  shawl  was  fastened  with  a  large  broken 
needle,  converted  into  a  pin  by  means  of  a  head  of  sealing- 
wax. 

This  person  was  impatiently  awaiting  Pierrotin  to  commend 
her  son  to  his  care ;  the  lad  was  probably  traveling  alone  for 
the  first  time,  and  she  had  accompanied  him  as  far  as  the 
coach-office,  as  much  out  of  mistrust  as  out  of  motherly  de- 
votion. The  son  was  in  a  way  supplementary  to  his  mother; 
and  without  the  mother  the  son  would  have  seemed  less  com- 
prehensible. While  the  mother  was  content  to  display  darned 
gloves,  the  son  wore  an  olive-green  overcoat,  with  sleeves  rather 
short  at  the  wrists,  showing  that  he  was  still  growing,  as  lads 


238  A   START  IN  LIFE, 

do  between  eighteen  and  nineteen.  And  his  blue  trousers, 
mended  by  the  mother,  showed  that  they  had  been  new-seated 
whenever  the  tails  of  his  coat  parted  maliciously  behind. 

"Do  not  twist  your  gloves  up  in  that  way,"  she  was  saying 
when  Pierrotin  appeared,  "you  wear  them  shabby.  Are  you 
the  driver?  Ah  !  it  is  you,  Pierrotin  !  "  she  went  on,  leaving 
her  son  for  a  moment  and  taking  the  coachman  aside. 

"All  well,  Madame  Clapart?"  said  Pierrotin,  with  an  ex- 
pression on  his  face  of  mingled  respect  and  familiarity. 

"Yes,  Pierrotin.  Take  good  care  of  my  Oscar j  he  is 
traveling  alone  for  the  first  time." 

"Oh!  if  he  is  going  alone  to  Monsieur  Moreau's ?" 

said  Pierrotin,  to  discover  whether  it  were  really  there  that 
the  young  fellow  was  being  sent. 

"Yes/'  said  the  mother. 

"Has  Madame  Moreau  a  liking  for  him,  then?"  said  the 
man,  with  a  knowing  look. 

"Oh!  it  will  not  be  all  roses  for  the  poor  boy;  but  his 
future  prospects  make  it  absolutely  necessary  that  he  should 
go." 

Pierrotin  was  struck  by  this  remark,  and  he  did  not  like  to 
confide  his  doubts  concerning  the  steward  to  Madame  Clapart; 
while  she,  on  her  part,  dared  not  offend  her  son  by  giving 
Pierrotin  such  instructions  as  would  put  the  coachman  in  the 
position  of  a  mentor. 

During  this  brief  hesitation  on  both  sides,  under  cover  of  a 
few  remarks  on  the  weather,  the  roads,  the  stopping-places  on 
the  way,  it  will  not  be  superfluous  to  explain  the  circumstances 
which  had  thrown  Pierrotin  and  Madame  Clapart  together 
and  given  rise  to  their  few  words  of  confidential  talk.  Fre- 
quently— that  is  to  say,  three  or  four  times  a  month — Pierro- 
tin, on  his  way  to  Paris,  found  the  steward  waiting  at  la  Cave, 
and  as  the  coach  came  up  he  beckoned  to  a  gardener,  who 
then  helped  Pierrotin  to  place  on  the  coach  one  or  two  baskets 
full  of  such  fruit  and  vegetables  as  were  in  season,  with  fowls, 


A  START  IN  LIFE.  233 

eggs,  butter,  or  game.  Moreau  always  paid  the  carriage  him- 
self, and  gave  him  money  enough  to  pay  the  excise  duties  at 
the  barrier,  if  the  baskets  contained  anything  subject  to  the 
octroi*  These  hampers  and  baskets  never  bore  any  label. 
The  first  time,  and  once  for  all,  the  steward  had  given  the 
shrewd  driver  Madame  Clapart's  address  by  word  of  mouth, 
desiring  him  never  to  trust  anybody  else  with  these  precious 
parcels.  Pierrotin,  dreaming  of  an  intrigue  between  some 
pretty  girl  and  the  agent,  had  gone  as  directed  to  No.  7  Rue 
de  la  Cerisaie,  near  the  Arsenal,  where  he  had  seen  the  Mad- 
ame Clapart  above  described,  instead  of  the  fair  young  creature 
he  had  expected  to  find. 

Carriers,  in  the  course  of  their  day's  work,  are  initiated 
into  many  homes  and  trusted  with  many  secrets;  but  the 
chances  of  the  social  system — a  sort  of  deputy  providence — 
having  ordained  that  they  should  have  no  education  or  be 
unendowed  with  the  gift  of  observation,  it  follows  that  they 
are  not  dangerous.  Nevertheless,  after  many  months  Pierrotin 
could  not  account  to  himself  for  the  friendship  between 
Madame  Clapart  and  Monsieur  Moreau,  from  what  little  he 
saw  of  the  household  in  the  Rue  de  la  Cerisaie.  Though 
rents  were  not  at  that  time  high  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
Arsenal,  Madame  Clapart  lived  on  the  fourth  floor  on  the 
inner  side  of  a  courtyard,  in  a  house  which  had  been  in  its 
day  the  residence  of  some  magnate,  at  a  period  when  the 
highest  nobility  in  the  kingdom  lived  on  what  had  been  the 
site  of  the  Palais  des  Tournelles  and  the  Hotel  Saint-Paul. 
Toward  the  close  of  the  sixteenth  century  the  great  families 
spread  themselves  over  vast  plots  previously  occupied  by  the 
King's  Palace  Gardens,  of  which  the  record  survives  in  the 
names  of  the  streets,  Rue  de  la  Cerisaie,  Rue  Beautreillis, 
Rue  des  Lions,  and  so  on.  This  apartment,  of  which  every 
room  was  paneled  with  old  wainscot,  consisted  of  three 
rooms  in  a  row — a  dining-room,  a  drawing-room,  and  a  bed- 
*  Collectors  of  duties  payable  on  goods  brought  into  the  cities. 


240  A  START  IN  LIFE. 

room.  Above  were  the  kitchen  and  Oscar's  room.  Fronting 
the  door  that  opened  on  to  the  landing  was  the  door  of  another 
room  at  an  angle  to  these,  in  a  sort  of  square  tower  of  mas- 
sive stone  built  out  all  the  way  up,  and  containing  beside  a 
wooden  staircase.  This  tower  room  was  where  Moreau  slept 
whenever  he  spent  a  night  in  Paris. 

Pierrotin  deposited  the  baskets  in  the  first  room,  where  he 
could  see  six  straw-bottomed,  walnut-wood  chairs,  a  table,  and 
a  sideboard ;  narrow  russet-brown  curtains  screened  the  win- 
dows. Afterward,  when  he  was  admitted  to  the  drawing- 
room,  he  found  it  fitted  with  old  furniture  of  the  time  of  the 
Empire,  much  worn  ;  and  there  was  no  more  of  it  at  all  than 
the  landlord  would  insist  upon  as  a  guarantee  for  the  rent. 
The  carved  panels,  painted  coarsely  in  distemper  of  a  dull 
pinkish  white,  and  in  such  a  way  as  to  fill  up  the  mouldings 
and  thicken  the  scrolls  and  figures,  far  from  being  ornamental, 
were  positively  depressing.  The  floor,  which  was  never 
waxed,  was  as  dingy  as  the  boards  of  a  schoolroom.  If  the 
carrier  by  chance  disturbed  Monsieur  and  Madame  Clapart  at 
a  meal,  the  plates,  the  glasses,  the  most  trifling  things  re- 
vealed miserable  poverty ;  they  had  plate,  it  is  true,  but  the 
dishes  and  tureen,  chipped  and  riveted  like  those  of  the  very 
poor,  were  truly  pitiable.  Monsieur  Clapart,  in  a  dirty  short 
coat,  with  squalid  slippers  on  his  feet,  and  always  green  spec- 
tacles to  protect  his  eyes,  as  he  took  off  a  shabby  peaked  cap, 
five  years  old  at  least,  showed  a  high-pointed  skull,  with  a  few 
dirty  locks  hanging  about  it,  which  a  poet  would  have  de- 
clined to  call  hair.  This  colorless  creature  looked  a  coward, 
and  was  probably  a  tyrant. 

In  this  dismal  apartment,  facing  north,  with  no  outlook  but 
on  a  vine  nailed  out  on  the  opposite  wall,  and  a  well  in  the 
corner  of  the  yard,  Madame  Clapart  gave  herself  the  airs  of  a 
queen,  and  trod  like  a  woman  who  could  not  go  out  on  foot. 
Often,  as  she  thanked  Pierrotin,  she  would  give  him  a  look 
that  might  have  touched  the  heart  of  a  looker-on  ;  now  and 


A   START  IN  LIFE,  241 

again  she  would  slip  a  twelve-sou  piece  into  his  hand.  Her 
voice  in  speech  was  very  sweet.  Oscar  was  unknown  to  Pier- 
rotin,  for  the  boy  had  but  just  left  school,  and  he  had  never 
seen  him  at  home. 

This  was  the  sad  story  which  Pierrotin  never  could  have 
guessed,  not  even  after  questioning  the  gatekeeper's  wife,  as 
he  sometimes  did — for  the  woman  knew  nothing  beyond  the 
fact  that  the  Claparts'  rent  was  but  two  hundred  and  fifty 
francs ;  that  they  only  had  a  woman  in  to  help  for  a  few  hours 
in  the  morning ;  that  madame  would  sometimes  do  her  own 
little  bit  of  washing,  and  paid  for  every  letter  as  it  came  as  if 
she  were  afraid  to  let  the  account  stand. 

There  is  no  such  thing — or,  rather,  there  is  very  rarely  such 
a  thing — as  a  criminal  who  is  bad  all  through.  How  much 
more  rare  it  must  be  to  find  a  man  who  is  dishonest  all 
through !  He  may  make  up  his  accounts  to  his  own  advan- 
tage rather  than  his  master's,  or  pull  as  much  hay  as  possible 
to  his  end  of  the  manger ;  but,  even  while  making  a  little  for- 
tune by  illicit  means,  few  men  deny  themselves  the  luxury  of 
some  good  action.  If  only  out  of  curiosity,  as  a  contrast,  or 
perhaps  by  chance,  every  man  has  known  his  hour  of  gener- 
osity ;  he  may  speak  of  it  as  a  mistake,  and  never  repeat  it ; 
still,  once  or  twice  in  his  life,  he  will  have  sacrificed  to  well- 
doing, as  the  veriest  lout  will  sacrifice  to  the  Graces.  If 
Moreau's  sins  can  be  forgiven  him,  will  it  not  be  for  the  sake 
of  his  constancy  in  helping  a  poor  woman  of  whose  favors  he 
had  once  been  proud,  and  under  whose  roof  he  had  found 
refuge  when  in  danger  of  his  life? 

This  woman,  famous  at  the  time  of  the  Directoire  for  her 
connection  with  one  of  the  five  kings  of  the  day,  married, 
under  his  powerful  patronage,  a  contractor  who  made  millions, 
and  then  was  ruined  by  Napoleon  in  1802.  This  man,  named 
Husson,  was  driven  mad  by  his  sudden  fall  from  opulence  to 
poverty ;  he  threw  himself  into  the  Seine,  leaving  his  hand- 
some wife  expecting  a  child.  Moreau,  who  was  on  very  inti- 
16 


242  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

mate  terms  with  Madame  Husson,  was  at  the  time  under  sen- 
tence of  death,  so  he  could  not  marry  the  widow,  and  was  in 
fact  obliged  to  leave  France  for  a  time.  Madame  Husson, 
only  two-and-twenty,  in  her  utter  poverty,  married  an  official 
named  Clapart,  a  young  man  of  twenty-seven — a  man  of 
promise,  it  was  said.  Heaven  preserve  women  from  handsome 
men  of  promise !  In  those  days  officials  rose  rapidly  from 
humble  beginnings,  for  the  Emperor  had  an  eye  for  capable 
men.  But  Clapart,  vulgarly  handsome,  indeed,  had  no  brains. 
Believing  Madame  Husson  to  be  very  rich,  he  had  affected  a 
great  passion ;  he  was  simply  a  burden  to  her,  never  able, 
either  then  or  later,  to  satisfy  the  habits  she  had  acquired  in 
her  days  of  opulence.  Clapart  filled — badly  enough — a  small 
place  in  the  Exchequer  Office  at  a  salary  of  not  more  than 
eighteen  hundred  francs  a  year. 

When  Moreau  came  back  to  be  with  the  Comte  de  Serizy 
and  heard  of  Madame  Husson's  desperate  plight,  he  succeeded, 
before  his  own  marriage,  in  getting  her  a  place  as  woman  of 
the  bedchamber  in  attendance  on  MADAME,  the  Emperor's 
mother.  But  in  spite  of  such  powerful  patronage,  Clapart 
could  never  get  on ;  his  incapacity  was  too  immediately 
obvious. 

In  1815  the  brilliant  Aspasia  of  the  Directory,  ruined  by 
the  Emperor's  overthrow,  was  left  with  nothing  to  live  on  but 
the  salary  of  twelve  hundred  francs  attached  to  a  clerkship  in 
the  municipal  offices,  which  the  Comte  de  Serizy's  influence 
secured  for  Clapart.  Moreau,  now  the  only  friend  of  a  woman 
whom  he  had  known  as  the  possessor  of  millions,  obtained  for 
Oscar  Husson  a  half-scholarship  held  by  the  Municipality  of 
Paris  in  the  College  Henri  IV.,  and  he  sent  to  the  Rue  de  la 
Cerisaie,  by  Pierrotin,  all  he  could  decently  offer  to  the  im- 
poverished lady. 

Oscar  was  his  mother's  one  hope,  her  very  life.  The  only 
fault  to  be  found  with  the  poor  woman  was  her  excessive  fond- 
ness for  this  boy — his  stepfather's  utter  aversion.  Oscar  was, 


LA   START  IN  LIFE.  243 

unluckily,  gifted  with  a  depth  of  silliness  which  his  mother 
could  never  suspect,  in  spite  of  Clapart's  ironical  remarks. 
This  silliness — or,  to  be  accurate,  this  bumptiousness — dis- 
turbed Monsieur  Moreau  so  greatly  that  he  had  begged 
Madame  Clapart  to  send  the  lad  to  him  for  a  month  that  he 
might  judge  for  himself  what  line  of  life  he  would  prove  fit 
for.  The  steward  had  some  thought  of  introducing  Oscar 
one  day  to  the  count  as  his  successor. 

But,  to  give  God  and  the  devil  their  due,  it  may  here  be 
observed  as  an  excuse  for  Oscar's  preposterous  conceit  that  he 
had  been  born  under  the  roof  of  the  Emperor's  mother;  in 
his  earliest  years  his  eyes  had  been  dazzled  by  Imperial 
splendor.  His  impressible  imagination  had  no  doubt  retained 
the  memory  of  those  magnificent  spectacles,  and  an  image  of 
that  golden  time  of  festivities,  with  a  dream  of  seeing  them 
again.  The  boastfulness  common  to  schoolboys,  all  possessed 
by  desire  to  shine  at  the  expense  of  their  fellows,  had  in  him 
been  exaggerated  by  these  memories  of  his  childhood ;  and  at 
home  perhaps  his  mother  was  rather  too  apt  to  recall  with 
complacency  the  days  when  she  had  been  a  queen  of  Paris 
under  the  Directory.  Oscar,  who  had  just  finished  his  studies, 
had,  no  doubt,  often  been  obliged  to  assert  himself  as  superior 
to  the  humiliations  which  the  pupils  who  pay  are  always 
ready  to  inflict  on  the  "charity-boys"  when  the  scholars 
are  not  physically  strong  enough  to  impress  them  with  their 
superiority. 

This  mixture  of  departed  splendor  and  faded  beauty,  of 
affection  resigned  to  poverty,  of  hope  founded  on  this  son, 
and  maternal  blindness,  with  the  heroic  endurance  of  suffer- 
ing, made  this  mother  one  of  the  pathetic  figures  which  in 
Paris  deserve  the  notice  of  the  observer. 

Pierrotin,  who,  of  course,  could  not  know  how  truly  Moreau 
was  attached  to  this  woman,  and  she,  on  her  part,  to  the  man 
who  had  protected  her  in  1797,  and  was  now  her  only  friend, 


244  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

would  not  mention  to  her  the  suspicion  that  had  dawned  in 
his  brain  as  to  the  danger  which  threatened  Moreau.  The 
manservant's  ominous  speech :  "  We  have  all  enough  to  do  to 
take  care  of  ourselves,"  recurred  to  his  mind  with  the  instinct 
of  obedience  to  those  whom  he  designated  as  "  first  in  the 
ranks."  Also,  at  this  moment  Pierrotin  felt  as  many  darts 
stinging  his  brain  as  there  are  five-francs  pieces  in  a  thousand 
francs.  A  journey  of  seven  leagues  seemed,  no  doubt,  quite 
an  undertaking  to  this  poor  mother,  who  in  all  her  fine  lady 
existence  had  hardly  ever  been  beyond  the  barrier ;  for  Pier- 

rotin's  replies,  "Yes,  madame;  no,  madame "  again  and 

again,  plainly  showed  that  the  man  was  only  anxious  to  escape 
from  her  too  numerous  and  useless  instructions. 

"You  will  put  the  baggage  where  it  cannot  get  wet  if  the 
weather  should  change?" 

"I  have  a  tarpaulin,"  said  Pierrotin;  "and,  you  see, 
madame,  it  is  carefully  packed  away." 

"  Oscar,  do  not  stay  more  than  a  fortnight,  even  if  you  are 
pressed,"  Madame  Clapart  went  on,  coming  back  to  her  son. 
"Do  what  you  will,  Madame  Moreau  will  never  take  to  you; 
beside,  you  must  get  home  by  the  end  of  September.  We 
are  going  to  Belleville,  you  know,  to  your  Uncle  Cardot's." 

"  Yes,  mamma." 

"Above  all,"  she  added  in  a  low  tone,  "never  talk  about 
servants.  Always  remember  that  Madame  Moreau  was  a 
lady's  maid " 

"Yes,  mamma." 

Oscar,  like  all  young  people  whose  conceit  is  touchy,  seemed 
much  put  out  by  these  admonitions  delivered  in  the  gateway 
of  the  Silver  Lion. 

"Well,  good-by,  mamma;  we  shall  soon  be  off,  the  horse 
is  put  in." 

The  mother,  forgeting  that  she  was  in  the  open  street, 
hugged  her  Oscar,  and  taking  a  nice  little  roll  out  of  her  bag — 

"Here,"  said  she,  "you  were  forgetting  your  bread  and 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  245 

chocolate.  Once  more,  my  dear  boy,  do  not  eat  anything  at 
the  inns ;  you  have  to  pay  ten  times  the  value  for  the  smallest 
morsel." 

Oscar  wished  his  mother  farther  as  she  stuffed  the  roll  and 
the  chocolate  into  his  pocket. 

There  were  two  witnesses  to  the  scene,  two  young  men  a 
few  years  older  than  the  newly  fledged  schoolboy,  better 
dressed  than  he,  and  without  their  mothers,  their  demeanor, 
dress,  and  manner  proclaiming  the  entire  independence  which 
is  the  end  of  every  lad's  desire  while  still  under  direct  mater- 
nal government.  To  Oscar,  at  this  moment,  these  two  young 
fellows  epitomized  the  World. 

" Mamma!  says  he,"  cried  one  of  these  strangers,  with  a 
laugh. 

The  words  reached  Oscar's  ears,  and  in  an  impulse  of  in- 
tense irritation  he  shouted  out — 

"Good-by,  mother!" 

It  must  be  owned  that  Madame  Clapart  spoke  rather  too 
loud,  and  seemed  to  admit  the  passers-by  to  bear  witness  to 
her  affectionate  care. 

"What  on  earth  ails  you,  Oscar?"  said  the  poor  woman, 
much  hurt.  "  I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  added  severely, 
fancying  she  could  thus  inspire  him  with  respect — a  common 
mistake  with  women  who  spoil  their  children.  "  Listen,  dear 
Oscar,"  she  went  on,  resuming  her  coaxing  gentleness,  "you 
have  a  propensity  for  talking  to  everybody,  telling  everything 
you  know  and  everything  you  don't  know — out  of  brag  and  a 
young  man's  foolish  self-conceit.  I  beg  you  once  more  to 
bridle  your  tongue.  You  have  not  seen  enough  of  life,  my 
dearest  treasure,  to  gauge  the  people  you  may  meet,  and  there 
is  nothing  more  dangerous  than  talking  at  random  in  a  public 
conveyance.  In  a  diligence  well-bred  persons  keep  silence." 

The  two  young  men,  who  had,  no  doubt,  walked  to  the  end 
of  the  yard  and  back,  now  made  the  sound  of  their  boots 
heard  once  more  under  the  gateway ;  they  might  have  heard 


246  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

this  little  lecture ;  and  so,  to  be  quit  of  his  mother,  Oscar 
took  heroic  measures,  showing  how  much  self-esteem  can 
stimulate  the  inventive  powers. 

"Mamma,"  said  he,  "you  are  standing  in  a  thorough 
draught,  you  will  catch  cold.  Beside,  I  must  take  my  place." 

The  lad  had  touched  some  tender  chord,  for  his  mother 
clasped  him  in  her  arms  as  if  he  were  starting  on  some  long 
voyage,  and  saw  him  into  the  chaise  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Do  not  forget  to  give  five  francs  to  the  servants,"  said 
she.  "And  write  to  me  at  least  three  times  in  the  course  of 
the  fortnight.  Behave  discreetly,  and  remember  all  my  in- 
structions. You  have  enough  linen  to  need  none  being 
washed.  And,  above  all,  remember  all  Monsieur  Moreau's 
kindness;  listen  to  him  as  to  a  father  and  follow  his  advice." 

As  he  got  into  the  chaise  Oscar  displayed  a  pair  of  blue 
stockings  as  his  trousers  slipped  up,  and  the  new  seat  to  his 
trousers  as  his  coat-tails  parted.  And  the  smile  on  the  faces 
of  the  two  young  men,  who  did  not  fail  to  see  these  evidences 
of  honorable  poverty,  was  a  fresh  blow  to  Oscar's  self-esteem. 

"Oscar's  place  is  No.  i,"  said  Madame  Clapart  to  Pier- 
rotin.  "  Settle  yourself  in  the  corner,"  she  went  on,  still 
gazing  at  her  son  with  tender  affection. 

Oh  !  how  much  Oscar  regretted  his  mother's  beauty,  spoilt 
by  misfortune  and  sorrow,  and  the  poverty  and  self-sacrifice 
that  hindered  her  from  being  nicely  dressed.  One  of  the 
youngsters — the  one  who  wore  boots  and  spurs — nudged  the 
other  with  his  elbow  to  point  out  Oscar's  mother,  and  the 
other  twirled  his  mustache  with  an  air,  as  much  as  to  say :  "A 
rather  neat  figure  !  " 

"How  am  I  to  get  rid  of  my  mother?"  thought  Oscar, 
looking  quite  anxious. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  Madame  Clapart. 

Oscar  pretended  not  to  hear,  the  wretch !  And,  perhaps, 
under  the  circumstances,  Madame  Clapart  showed  want  of 
tact ;  but  an  absorbing  passion  is  so  selfish  ! 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  247 

"  Georges,  do  you  like  traveling  with  children  ?  "  asked  one 
of  the  young  men  of  his  friend. 

"  Yes,  if  they  are  weaned,  and  are  called  Oscar,  and  have 
chocolate  to  eat,  my  dear  Amaury." 

These  remarks  were  exchanged  in  an  undertone,  leaving 
Oscar  free  to  hear  or  not  to  hear  them.  His  manner  would 
show  the  young  man  what  he  might  venture  on  with  the  lad 
to  amuse  himself  in  the  course  of  the  journey.  Oscar  would 
not  hear.  He  looked  round  to  see  whether  his  mother,  who 
weighed  on  him  like  a  nightmare,  was  still  waiting ;  but,  in- 
deed, he  knew  she  was  too  fond  of  him  to  have  deserted  him 
yet.  He  not  only  involuntarily  compared  his  traveling  com- 
panion's dress  with  his  own,  but  he  also  felt  that  his  mother's 
costume  counted  for  something  as  provoking  the  young  men's 
mocking  smile. 

"  If  only  they  would  go  !  "  thought  he. 

Alas !  Amaury  had  just  said  to  Georges  as  he  struck  the 
wheel  of  the  chaise  with  his  cane — 

"And  you  are  prepared  to  trust  your  future  career  on  board 
this  frail  vessel  ?  ' ' 

"  Need  must !  "  replied  Georges  in  a  fateful  tone. 

Oscar  heaved  a  sigh  as  he  noted  the  youth's  hat,  cocked 
cavalierly  over  one  ear  to  show  a  fine  head  of  fair  hair  elab- 
orately curled,  while  he,  by  his  stepfather's  orders,  wore  his 
black  hair  in  a  brush  above  his  forehead,  cut  quite  short  like 
a  soldier's.  The  vain  boy's  face  was  round  and  chubby, 
bright  with  the  color  of  vigorous  health  ;  that  of  "  Georges" 
was  long,  delicate,  and  pale.  This  young  man  had  a  broad 
brow,  and  his  chest  filled  out  a  shawl-pattern  vest.  As  Oscar 
admired  his  tightly  fitting  iron-gray  trousers  and  his  overcoat, 
sitting  closely  to  the  figure,  with  Brandenburg  braiding  and 
oval  buttons,  he  felt  as  if  the  romantic  stranger,  blessed  with 
so  many  advantages,  were  making  an  unfair  display  of  his 
superiority,  just  as  an  ugly  woman  is  offended  by  the  mere 
sight  of  a  beauty.  The  ring  of  his  spurred  boot-heels,  which 


248  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

the  young  man  accentuated  rather  too  much  for  Oscar's  liking, 
went  to  the  boy's  heart.  In  short,  Oscar  was  as  uncomfortable 
in  his  clothes,  home-made  perhaps  out  of  his  stepfather's  old 
ones,  as  the  other  enviable  youth  was  satisfied  in  his. 

"  That  fellow  must  have  ten  francs  at  least  in  his  pocket," 
thought  Oscar. 

The  stranger,  happening  to  turn  round,  what  were  Oscar's 
feelings  when  he  discerned  a  gold  chain  about  his  neck — with 
a  gold  watch,  no  doubt,  at  the  end  of  it. 

Living  in  the  Rue  de  la  Cerisaie  since  1815,  taken  to  and 
from  school  on  his  holidays  by  his  stepfather  Clapart,  Oscar 
had  never  had  any  standard  of  comparison  but  his  mother's 
poverty-stricken  household.  Kept  very  strictly,  by  Moreau's 
advice,  he  rarely  went  to  the  play,  and  then  aspired  no  higher 
than  to  the  Ambigu-Comique,  where  little  elegance  met  his 
gaze,  even  if  the  absorbed  attention  a  boy  devotes  to  the  stage 
had  allowed  him  to  study  the  house.  His  stepfather  still  wore 
his  watch  in  a  fob  in  the  fashion  of  the  Empire,  with  a  heavy 
gold  chain  hanging  over  his  stomach,  and  ending  in  a  bunch 
of  miscellaneous  objects — seals,  and  a  watch-key  with  a  flat 
round  top,  in  which  was  set  a  landscape  in  mosaic.  Oscar, 
who  looked  on  this  out-of-date  splendor  as  the  ne  plus  ultra 
of  luxury,  was  quite  bewildered  by  this  revelation  of  superior 
and  less  ponderous  elegance.  The  young  man  also  made  an 
insolent  display  of  a  pair  of  good  gloves,  and  seemed  bent  on 
blinding  Oscar  by  his  graceful  handling  of  a  smart  cane  with 
a  gold  knob. 

Oscar  had  just  reached  the  final  stage  of  boyhood  in  which 
trifles  are  the  cause  of  great  joys  and  great  anguish,  when  a 
real  misfortune  seems  preferable  to  a  ridiculous  costume ;  and 
vanity,  having  no  great  interests  in  life  to  absorb  it,  centres 
in  frivolities,  and  dress,  and  the  anxiety  to  be  thought  a  man. 
The  youth  magnifies  himself,  and  his  self-assertion  is  all  the 
more  marked  because  it  turns  on  trifles ;  still,  though  he 
envies  a  well-dressed  noodle,  he  can  be  also  fired  with  enthu- 


A   START  IN  LIPE.  249 

siasra  for  talent,  and  admire  a  man  of  genius.  His  faults, 
when  they  are  not  rooted  in  his  heart,  only  show  the  exuber- 
ance of  vitality  and  a  lavish  imagination.  When  a  boy  of 
nineteen,  an  only  son,  austerely  brought  up  at  home  as  a 
result  of  the  poverty  that  weighs  so  cruelly  on  a  clerk  with 
twelve  hundred  francs'  salary,  but  worshiped  by  a  mother, 
who  for  his  sake  endures  the  bitterest  privations — when  such 
a  boy  is  dazzled  by  a  youth  of  two-and-twenty,  envies  him  his 
frogged  coat  lined  with  silk,  his  sham  cashmere  vest,  and  a 
tie  slipped  through  a  vulgar  ring,  is  not  this  a  mere  peccadillo 
such  as  may  be  seen  in  every  class  of  life  in  the  inferior  who 
envies  his  betters? 

Even  a  man  of  genius  yields  to  this  primitive  passion.  Did 
not  Rousseau  of  Geneva  envy  Venture  and  Bade? 

But  Oscar  went  on  from  the  peccadillo  to  the  real  fault ; 
he  felt  humiliated  ;  he  owed  his  traveling  companion  a  grudge ; 
and  a  secret  desire  surged  up  in  his  heart  to  show  him  that  he 
was  as  good  a  man  as  he. 

The  two  young  bucks  walked  to  and  fro,  from  the  gateway 
fi^the  stables  and  back,  going  out  to  the  street ;  and,  as  they 
turned  on  their  heel,  they  each  time  looked  at  Oscar  ensconced 
in  his  corner.  Oscar,  convinced  that  whenever  they  laughed 
it  was  at  him,  affected  profound  indifference.  He  began  to 
hum  the  tune  of  a  song  then  in  fashion  among  the  Liberals, 
"  C*  est  la  faute  a  Voltaire,  c'est  la  faute  a  Rousseau."  (It  is 
all  the  fault  of  Voltaire  and  Rousseau.)  This  assumption,  no 
doubt,  made  them  take  him  for  some  underling  lawyer's 
clerk. 

"  Why,  perhaps  he  sings  in  the  chorus  at  the  opera  !  "  said 
Amaury. 

Exasperated  this  time,  Oscar  bounded  in  his  seat ;  raising 
the  back  curtain,  he  said  to  Pierrotin — 

"  When  are  we  to  be  off?  " 

"  Directly,"  said  the  man,  who  had  his  whip  in  his  hand, 
but  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  Rue  d'Enghien. 


250  A  START  IN  LIFE, 

The  scene  was  now  enlivened  by  the  arrival  of  a  young 
man  escorted  by  a  perfect  pickle  of  a  boy,  who  appeared  with 
a  porter  at  their  heels  hauling  a  barrow  by  a  strap.  The  young 
man  spoke  confidentially  to  Pierrotin,  who  wagged  his  head 
and  hailed  his  stableman.  The  man  hurried  up  to  help  unload 
the  barrow,  which  contained,  beside  two  trunks,  pails,  brushes, 
and  boxes  of  strange  shape,  a  mass  of  packets  and  utensils, 
which  the  younger  of  the  two  new-comers  who  had  climbed 
to  the  box-seat  stowed  and  packed  away  with  such  expedition 
that  Oscar,  smiling  at  his  mother,  who  was  now  watching  him 
from  the  other  side  of  the  street,  failed  to  see  any  of  the 
paraphernalia  which  might  have  explained  to  him  in  what 
profession  his  traveling  companions  were  employed.  The 
boy,  about  sixteen  years  of  age,  wore  a  holland  blouse  with  a 
patent-leather  belt ;  his  cap,  knowingly  stuck  on  one  side, 
proclaimed  him  a  merry  youth,  as  did  the  picturesque  disorder 
of  his  curly  brown  hair  tumbling  about  his  shoulders.  A 
black  silk  tie  marked  a  black  line  on  a  very  white  neck,  and 
seemed  to  heighten  the  brightness  of  his  gray  eyes.  The  restless 
vivacity  of  a  sunburnt,  rosy  face,  the  shape  of  his  full  lips, 
his  prominent  ears,  and  his  turn-up  nose — every  feature  of  his 
face  showed  the  bantering  wit  of  a  Figaro  and  the  recklessness 
of  youth,  while  the  quickness  of  his  gestures  and  saucy 
glances  revealed  a  keen  intelligence,  early  developed  by  the 
practice  of  a  profession  taken  up  in  boyhood.  This  boy, 
whom  art  or  nature  had  already  made  a  man,  seemed  in- 
different to  the  question  of  dress,  as  though  he  were  conscious 
of  some  intrinsic  moral  worth  ;  for  he  looked  at  his  unpolished 
boots  as  if  he  thought  them  rather  a  joke,  and  at  his  plain 
drill  trousers  to  note  the  stains  on  them,  but  rather  to  study 
the  effect  than  to  hide  them. 

"  I  have  acquired  a  fine  tone  !  "  said  he,  giving  himself  a 
shake,  and  addressing  his  companion. 

The  expression  of  the  senior  showed  some  authority  over 
this  youngster,  in  whom  experienced  eyes  would  at  once  have 


A    START  IN  LIFE.  251 

discerned  the  jolly  art  student,  known  in  French  studio  slang 
as  a  rapin. 

"Behave,  Mistigris  !  "*  replied  the  master,  calling  him  no 
doubt  by  a  nickname  bestowed  on  him  in  the  studio. 

The  elder  traveler  was  a  slight  and  pallid  young  fellow, 
with  immensely  thick  black  hair  in  quite  fantastic  disorder ; 
but  this  abundant  hair  seemed  naturally  necessary  to  a  very 
large  head  with  a  powerful  forehead  that  spoke  of  precocious 
intelligence.  His  curiously  puckered  face,  too  peculiar  to  be 
called  ugly,  was  as  hollow  as  though  this  singular  young  man 
were  suffering  either  from  some  chronic  malady  or  from  the 
privations  of  extreme  poverty — which  is  indeed  a  terrible 
chronic  malady — or  from  sorrows  too  recent  to  have  been  for- 
gotten. 

His  clothes,  almost  in  keeping  with  those  of  Mistigris  in 
proportion  to  his  age  and  dignity,  consisted  of  a  much-worn 
coat  of  a  dull  green  color,  shabby,  but  quite  clean  and  well 
brtohed,  a  black  vest  buttoned  to  the  neck,  as  the  coat  was 
too,  only  just  showing  a  red  handkerchief  round  his  throat. 
Black  trousers,  as  shabby  as  the  coat,  hung  loosely  round  his 
lean  legs.  His  boots  were  muddy,  showing  that  he  had  come 
far,  and  on  foot.  With  one  swift  glance  the  artist  took  in  the 
depths  of  the  hostelry  of  the  Silver  Lion,  the  stables,  the  tones 
of  color,  and  every  detail,  and  he  looked  at  Mistigris,  who  had 
imitated  him,  with  an  ironical  twinkle. 

"  Rather  nice  !  "  said  Mistigris. 

"Yes,  very  nice,"  replied  the  other. 

"We  are  still  too  early,"  said  Mistigris.  "Couldn't  we 
snatch  a  toothful?  My  stomach,  like  all  nature,  abhors  a 
vacuum  !  " 

"  Have  we  time  to  get  a  cup  of  coffee  ?  "  said  the  artist,  in 
a  pleasant  voice,  to  Pierrotin. 

"Well,  don't  be  long,"  said  Pierrotin. 

"  We  have  a  quarter  of  an  hour,"  added  Mistigris,  thus  re- 

*  The  ace  of  clubs  in  the  game  of  mouche. 


252  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

vealing  the  genius  for  inference,  which  is  characteristic  of  the 
Paris  art  student. 

The  couple  disappeared.  Just  then  nine  o'clock  struck  in 
the  inn  kitchen.  Georges  thought  it  only  fair  and  reasonable 
to  appeal  to  Pierrotin. 

"  I  say,  my  good  friend,  when  you  are  the  proud  possessor 
of  such  a  shandrydan  as  this,"  and  he  rapped  the  wheel  with 
his  cane,  "you  should  at  least  make  a  merit  of  punctuality. 
The  deuce  is  in  it !  we  do  not  ride  in  that  machine  for  our 
pleasure,  and  business  must  be  devilish  pressing  before  we  trust 
our  precious  selves  in  it !  And  that  old  hack  you  call  Rougeot 
will  certainly  not  pick  up  lost  time  !  " 

"  We  will  harness  on  Bichette  while  those  two  gentlemen 
are  drinking  their  coffee,"  replied  Pierrotin.  "  Go  on,  you," 
he  added  to  the  stableman,  "and  see  if  old  Leger  means  to 
come  with  us " 

"  Where  is  your  old  Leger?  "  asked  Georges. 

"  Just  opposite  at  Number  50;  he  couldn't  find  room  in  the 
Beaumont  coach,"  said  Pierrotin  to  his  man,  paying  no  heed 
to  Georges,  and  going  off  himself  in  search  of  Bichette. 

Georges  shook  hands  with  his  friend  and  got  into  the  chaise, 
after  tossing  in  a  large  portfolio,  with  an  air  of  much  im- 
portance; this  he  placed  under  the  cushion.  He  took  the 
opposite  corner  to  Oscar. 

"This  '  old  Leger  '  bothers  me,"  said  he. 

"They  cannot  deprive  us  of  our  places,"  said  Oscar. 
"Mine  is  No.  i." 

"And  mine  No.  2,"  replied  Georges. 

Just  as  Pierrotin  reappeared,  leading  Bichette,  the  stable- 
man returned,  having  in  tow  a  huge  man  weighing  about  two 
hundred  and  forty  pounds,  apparently. 

Old  Leger  was  of  the  class  of  farmer  who,  with  an  enormous 
stomach  and  broad  shoulders,  wears  a  powdered  queue  and 
a  light  coat  of  blue  linen.  His  white  gaiters  were  tightly 
strapped  above  the  knee  over  corduroy  breeches,  and  finished 


A    START  IN  LIFE.  253 

off  with  silver  buckles.  His  hobnailed  shoes  weighed  each  a 
couple  of  pounds.  In  his  hand  he  carried  a  little,  knotted 
red  cane,  very  shiny,  and  with  a  heavy  knob,  secured  round 
his  wrist  by  a  leather  thong. 

"And  is  it  you  who  are  known  as  old  Leger?"*  said 
Georges  gravely  as  the  farmer  tried  to  lift  his  foot  to  the  step 
of  the  chaise. 

"At  your  service,"  said  the  farmer,  showing  him  a  face 
rather  like  that  of  Louis  XVIII.,  with  a  fat,  red  jowl,  while 
above  it  rose  a  nose  which  in  any  other  face  would  have 
seemed  enormous.  His  twinkling  eyes  were  deep  set  in  rolls 
of  fat. 

"  Come,  lend  a  hand,  my  boy,"  said  he  to  Pierrotin. 

The  farmer  was  hoisted  in  by  the  driver  and  the  stableman 
to  a  shout  of  "  Yo,  heave  ho  !  "  from  Georges. 

"  Oh  !  I  am  not  going  far ;  I  am  only  going  to  la  Cave  !  " 
said  Farmer  Light,  answering  a  jest  with  good  humor.  In 
France  everybody  understands  a  joke. 

"Get  into  the  corner,"  said  Pierrotin.  "There  will  be 
six  of  you." 

"  And  your  other  horse  ?  "  asked  Georges.  "  Is  it  as  fabu- 
lous as  the  third  horse  of  a  post-chaise  ?  " 

"There  it  is,  master,"  said  Pierrotin,  pointing  to  the  little 
mare  that  had  come  up  without  calling. 

"  He  calls  that  insect  a  horse  !  "  said  Georges,  astonished. 

"  Oh,  she  is  a  good  one  to  go,  is  that  little  mare,"  said  the 
farmer,  who  had  taken  his  seat.  "  Morning,  gentlemen. 
Are  we  going  to  weigh  anchor,  Pierrotin  ?  " 

"  Two  of  my  travelers  are  getting  a  cup  of  coffee,"  said  the 
driver. 

The  young  man  with  the  hollow  cheeks  and  his  follower 
now  reappeared. 

"  Come,  let  us  get  off,"  was  now  the  universal  cry. 

"We  are  off— we  are  off!"  replied  Pierrotin.     "Let  her 

*  Leger — light. 


254  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

go,"  he  added  to  his  man,  who  kicked  away  the  stones  that 
scotched  the  wheels. 

Pierrotin  took  hold  of  Rougeot's  bridle  with  an  encourag- 
ing "  Tclk,  telk"  to  warn  the  two  steeds  to  pull  themselves 
together ;  and,  torpid  as  they  evidently  were,  they  started 
the  vehicle,  which  Pierrotin  brought  to  a  standstill  in  front 
of  the  gate  of  the  Silver  Lion.  After  this  purely  preliminary 
manoeuvre,  he  again  looked  down  the  Rue  d'Enghien,  and 
vanished,  leaving  the  conveyance  in  the  care  of  the  stableman. 

"Well !  Is  your  governor  subject  to  these  attacks? "  Mis- 
tigris  asked  of  the  man. 

"  He  is  gone  to  fetch  his  oats  away  from  the  stable," 
replied  the  Auvergnat,  who  was  up  to  all  the  arts  in  use  to 
pacify  the  impatience  of  travelers. 

"After  all,"  said  Mistigris,  "time  is  a  great  plaster.1' 

At  that  time  there  was  in  the  Paris  studios  a  mania  for  dis- 
torting proverbs.  It  was  considered  a  triumph  to  hit  on  some 
change  of  letters  or  some  rhyming  word  which  should  suggest 
an  absurd  meaning,  or  even  make  it  absolute  nonsense.* 

"And  Paris  was  not  gilt  in  a  play,"  replied  his  comrade. 

Pierrotin  now  returned,  accompanied  by  the  Comte  de 
Serizy,  round  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  1'Echiquier ;  they  had 
no  doubt  had  a  short  conversation. 

"  Pere  Leger,  would  you  mind  giving  your  place  up  to  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte?  It  will  trim  the  chaise  better." 

"  And  we  shall  not  be  off  for  an  hour  yet  if  you  go  on  like 
this,"  said  Georges.  "You  will  have  to  take  out  that  infernal 
bar  we  have  had  such  plaguey  trouble  to  fit  in,  and  everybody 
will  have  to  get  out  for  the  last  comer.  Each  of  us  has  a 
right  to  the  place  he  booked.  What  number  is  this  gentle- 
man's? Come,  call  them  over.  Have  you  a  way-bill?  Do 
you  keep  a  book  ?  Which  is  Monsieur  le  Comte's  place  ? 
Count  of  what?" 

*  To  translate  these  not  always  funny  jests  is  impossible.  I  have  gen- 
erally tried  for  no  more  than  an  equivalent  rendering. — TRANSLATOR. 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  255 

"Monsieur  le  Comte,"  said  Pierrotin,  visibly  disturbed, 
"you  will  not  be  comfortable." 

"  Can't  you  count,  man?  "  said  Mistigris.  "  Short  counts 
make  tall  friends." 

"  Mistigris,  behave  !  "  said  his  master  quite  seriously. 

Monsieur  de  Serizy  was  supposed  by  his  fellow-travelers  to 
be  some  respectable  citizen  called  Lecomte. 

"Do  not  disturb  anybody,"  said  the  count  to  Pierrotin; 
"  I  will  sit  in  front  by  you." 

"Now,  Mistigris,"  said  the  young  artist,  "remember  the 
respect  due  to  age.  You  don't  know  how  dreadfully  old  you 
may  live  to  be.  Manners  take  the  van.  Give  up  your  place 
to  the  gentleman." 

Mistigris  opened  the  apron  of  the  chaise,  and  jumped  out 
as  nimbly  as  a  frog  into  the  water. 

"  You  cannot  sit  as  rabbit,  august  old  man  !  "  said  he  to 
Monsieur  de  Serizy. 

"Mistigris,  Tarts  are  the  end  of  man"  said  his  master. 

"Thank  you,  monsieur,"  said  the  count  to  the  artist,  by 
whose  side  he  now  took  his  seat.  And  the  statesman  looked 
with  a  sagacious  eye  at  the  possessors  of  the  back  seat,  in  a 
way  that  deeply  aggrieved  Oscar  and  Georges. 

"We  are  an  hour  and  a  quarter  behind  time,"  remarked 
Oscar. 

"People  who  want  a  chaise  to  themselves  should  book  all 
the  places,"  added  Georges. 

The  Comte  de  Serizy,  quite  sure  now  that  he  was  not  recog- 
nized, made  no  reply,  but  sat  with  the  expression  of  a  good- 
natured  tradesman. 

"  And  if  you  had  been  late,  you  would  have  liked  us  to 
wait  for  you,  I  suppose?  "  said  the  farmer  to  the  two  young 
fellows. 

Pierrotin  was  looking  out  toward  the  Porte  Saint-Denis,  and 
paused  for  a  moment  before  mounting  to  the  hard  box-seat, 
where  Mistigris  was  kicking  his  heels. 


256  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

11  If  you  are  still  waiting  for  somebody,  I  am  not  the  last," 
remarked  the  count. 

"That  is  sound  reasoning,"  said  Mistigris. 

Georges  and  Oscar  laughed  very  rudely. 

"The  old  gentleman  is  not  strikingly  original,"  said 
Georges  to  Oscar,  who  was  enchanted  with  this  apparent 
alliance. 

When  Pierrotin  had  settled  himself  in  his  place,  he  again 
looked  back,  but  failed  to  discern  in  the  crowd  the  two  trav- 
elers who  were  wanting  to  fill  up  his  cargo. 

"By  the  mass,  but  a  couple  more  passengers  would  not 
come  amiss,"  said  he. 

"Look  here,  I  have  not  paid;  I  shall  get  right  out,"  said 
Georges  in  alarm. 

"Why,  whom  do  you  expect,  Pierrotin?"  said  Leger. 

Pierrotin  cried  "  Gee  !  "  in  a  particular  tone,  which  Rou- 
geot  and  Bichette  knew  to  mean  business  at  last,  and  they 
trotted  off  toward  the  hill  at  a  brisk  pace,  which,  however, 
soon  grew  slack. 

The  count  had  a  very  red  face,  quite  scarlet  indeed,  with 
an  inflamed  spot  here  and  there,  and  set  off  all  the  more  by 
his  perfectly  white  hair.  By  any  but  quite  young  men  this 
complexion  would  have  been  understood  as  the  inflammatory 
effect  on  the  blood  of  incessant  work.  And,  indeed,  these 
angry  pimples  so  much  disfigured  his  really  noble  face  that 
only  close  inspection  could  discern  in  his  greenish  eyes  all 
the  acumen  of  the  judge,  the  subtlety  of  the  statesman,  and 
the  learning  of  the  legislator.  His  face  was  somewhat  flat; 
the  nose  especially  looked  as  if  it  had  been  flattened.  His 
hat  hid  the  breadth  and  beauty  of  his  brow  ;  and,  in  fact,  there 
was  some  justification  for  the  laughter  of  these  heedless  lads, 
in  the  strange  contrast  between  hair  as  white  as  silver  and 
thick,  bushy  eyebrows  still  quite  black.  The  count,  who 
wore  a  long,  blue  overcoat,  buttoned  to  the  chin  in  military 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  267 

fashion,  had  a  white  handkerchief  round  his  neck,  cotton- 
wool in  his  ears,  and  a  high  shirt-collar,  showing  a  square 
white  corner  on  each  cheek.  His  black  trousers  covered  his 
boots,  of  which  the  tip  scarcely  showed ;  he  had  no  ribbon  at 
his  buttonhole,  and  his  hands  were  hidden  by  his  doeskin 
gloves.  Certainly  there  was  nothing  in  this  man  which  could 
betray  to  the  lads  that  he  was  a  peer  of  France,  and  one  of 
the  most  useful  men  living  to  his  country. 

Old  Pere  L^ger  had  never  seen  the  count,  who,  on  the  other 
hand,  knew  him  only  by  name.  Though  the  count,  as  he 
got  into  the  chaise,  cast  about  him  the  inquiring  glance  which 
had  so  much  annoyed  Oscar  and  Georges,  it  was  because  he 
was  looking  for  his  notary's  clerk,  intending  to  impress  on 
him  the  need  for  the  greatest  secrecy  in  case  he  should  have 
been  compelled  to  travel,  like  himself,  by  Pierrotin's  convey- 
ance. But  he  was  reassured  by  Oscar's  appearance  and  by 
that  of  the  old  farmer,  and,  above  all,  by  the  air  of  aping  the 
military,  with  his  mustache  and  his  style  generally,  which 
stamped  Georges  an  adventurer ;  and  he  concluded  that  his 
note  had  reached  Maitre  Alexandre  Crottat  in  good  time. 

"  Pere  Leger,"  said  Pierrotin  as  they  came  to  the  steep  hill 
in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Denis,  at  the  Rue  de  la  Fidelite,  "sup- 
pose we  were  to  walk  a  bit,  heh?  "  On  hearing  the  name, 
the  count  observed — 

"  I  will  get  out  too ;  we  must  ease  the  horses." 

"Oh!  If  you  go  on  at  this  rate,  we  shall  do  fourteen 
miles  in  fifteen  days  !  "  exclaimed  Georges. 

"Well,  is  it  any  fault  of  mine,"  said  Pierrotin,  "if  a 
passenger  wishes  to  get  out  ?  " 

"  I  will  give  you  ten  louis  if  you  keep  my  secret  as  I  bid 
you,"  said  the  count,  taking  Pierrotin  by  the  arm. 

"  Oh,  ho  !  My  thousand  francs  !  "  thought  Pierrotin,  after 
giving  Monsieur  de  S£rizy  a  wink,  conveying,  "  Trust  me  !  " 

Oscar  and  Georges  remained  in  the  chaise. 

"Look  here,  Pierrotin — since  Pierrotin  you  are,"  cried 
17 


258  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

Georges,  when  the  travelers  had  gotten  into  the  chaise  again  at 
the  top  of  the  hill,  "  if  you  are  going  no  faster  than  this,  say 
so.  I  will  pay  my  fare  to  Saint-Denis,  and  hire  a  nag  there, 
for  I  have  important  business  on  hand,  which  will  suffer  from 
delay." 

"Oh!  he  will  get  on,  never  fear,"  replied  the  farmer. 
"And  the  road  is  not  a  long  one." 

"I  am  never  more  than  half  an  hour  late,"  answered  Pier- 
rotin. 

"  Well,  well,  you  are  not  carting  the  pope,  I  suppose,"  said 
Georges,  "  so  hurry  up  a  little." 

"You  ought  not  to  show  any  favor,"  said  Mistigris;  "  and 
if  you  are  afraid  of  jolting  this  gentleman  " — and  he  indicated 
the  count — "  that  is  not  fair." 

"All  men  are  equal  in  the  eye  of  the  coucou"  said  Georges, 
"as  all  Frenchmen  are  in  the  eye  of  the  Charter." 

"Be  quite  easy,"  said  old  Leger,  "we  shall  be  at  la  Cha- 
pelle  yet  before  noon."  La  Chapelle  is  a  village  close  to  the 
Barriere  Saint-Denis. 

Those  who  have  traveled  know  that  persons  thrown  together 
in  a  public  conveyance  do  not  immediately  amalgamate; 
unless  under  exceptional  circumstances,  they  do  not  converse 
till  they  are  well  on  their  way.  This  silent  interval  is  spent 
partly  in  reciprocal  examination,  and  partly  in  finding  each 
his  own  place  and  taking  possession  of  it.  The  soul,  as  much 
as  the  body,  needs  to  find  its  balance.  When  each,  severally, 
supposes  that  he  has  made  an  accurate  guess  at  his  companion's 
age,  profession,  and  temper,  the  most  talkative  first  opens  a 
conversation,  which  is  taken  up  all  the  more  eagerly  because 
all  feel  the  need  for  cheering  the  way  and  dispelling  the  dull- 
ness. 

This,  at  least,  is  what  happens  in  a  French  coach.  In 
other  countries  manners  are  different.  The  English  pride 
themselves  on  never  opening  their  lips ;  a  German  is  dull  in  a 
coach  ;  Italians  are  too  cautious  to  chat ;  the  Spaniards  have 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  259 

almost  ceased  to  have  any  coaches ;  and  the  Russians  have  no 
roads.  So  it  is  only  in  the  ponderous  French  diligence  that 
the  passengers  amuse  each  other,  in  the  gay  and  gossiping 
nation  where  each  one  is  eager  to  laugh  and  display  his  humor, 
where  everything  is  enlivened  by  raillery,  from  the  misery  of 
the  poorest  to  the  solid  interests  of  the  upper  middle-class. 
The  police  do  little  to  check  the  license  of  speech,  and  the 
gallery  of  the  Chambers  has  made  discussion  fashionable. 

When  a  youngster  of  two-and-twenty,  like  the  young  gen- 
tleman who  was  known  so  far  by  the  name  of  Georges,  has  a 
ready  wit,  he  is  strongly  tempted,  especially  in  such  circum- 
stances as  these,  to  be  reckless  in  the  use  of  it.  In  the  first 
place,  Georges  was  not  slow  to  come  to  the  conclusion  that  he 
was  the  superior  man  of  the  party.  He  decided  that  the  count 
was  a  manufacturer  of  the  second  class,  setting  him  down  as  a 
cutler;  the  shabby-looking  youth  attended  by  Mistigris  he 
thought  but  a  greenhorn,  Oscar  a  perfect  simpleton,  and  the 
farmer  a  capital  butt  for  a  practical  joke.  Having  thus  taken 
the  measure  of  all  his  traveling  companions,  he  determined  to 
amuse  himself  at  their  expense. 

"  Now,"  thought  he,  as  the  coucou  rolled  down  the  hill  from 
la  Chapelle  toward  the  plain  of  Saint-Denis,  ''shall  I  pass 
myself  off  as  Etienne  or  as  Beranger?  No,  these  bumpkins 
have  never  heard  of  either.  A  Carbonaro  ?  The  devil !  I 
might  be  nabbed.  One  of  Marshal  Ney's  sons  ?  Pooh,  what 
could  I  make  of  that  ?  Tell  them  the  story  of  my  father's 
death  ?  That  would  hardly  be  funny.  Suppose  I  were  to  have 
come  back  from  the  Government  colony  in  America?  They 
might  take  me  for  a  spy,  and  regard  me  with  suspicion.  I 
will  be  a  Russian  prince  in  disguise ;  I  will  cram  them  with 
fine  stories  about  the  Emperor  Alexander  !  Or  if  I  pretended 
to  be  Cousin,  the  Professor  of  Philosophy?  How  I  could 
mystify  them  !  No,  that  limp  creature  with  the  towzled  hair 
looks  as  if  he  might  have  kicked  his  heels  at  lecture  at  the 
Sorbonne.  Oh,  why  didn't  I  think  sooner  of  trotting  them 


260  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

out  ?  I  can  imitate  an  Englishman  so  well,  I  might  have  been 
Lord  Byron  traveling  incog.  Hang  it !  I  have  missed  my 
chance.  The  executioner's  son  ?  Not  a  bad  way  of  clearing 
a  space  at  breakfast.  Oh  !  I  know  !  I  will  have  been  in 
command  of  the  troops  under  Ali,  the  Pasha  of  Janina." 

While  he  was  lost  in  these  meditations,  the  chaise  was 
making  its  way  through  the  clouds  of  dust  which  constantly 
blow  up  from  the  side-paths  of  this  much-trodden  road. 

"  What  a  dust !  "  said  Mistigris. 

"King  Henri  is  dead,"  retorted  his  comrade.  "If  you 
said  it  smelt  of  vanilla  now,  you  would  hit  on  a  new  idea !  " 

"You  think  that  funny,"  said  Mistigris.  "Well,  but  it  does 
now  and  then  remind  me  of  vanilla." 

"In  the  East "  Georges  began,  meaning  to  concoct  a 

story. 

"In  the  least "  said  Mistigris'  master,  taking  up 

Georges. 

"  In  the  East,  I  said,  from  whence  I  have  just  returned," 
Georges  repeated,  "  the  dust  smells  very  sweet.  But  here  it 
smells  of  nothing  unless  it  is  wafted  up  from  such  a  manure- 
heap  as  this." 

"You  have  just  returned  from  the  East?"  said  Mistigris, 
with  a  sly  twinkle. 

"And,  you  see,  Mistigwis,  the  gentleman  is  so  tired  that 
what  he  now  wequires  is  west,"  drawled  his  master. 

"  You  are  not  much  sunburnt,"  said  Mistigris. 

"  Oh  !  I  am  but  just  out  of  bed  after  three  months'  illness, 
caused,  the  learned  doctors  say,  by  an  attack  of  suppressed 
plague. ' ' 

"You  have  had  the  plague?  "  cried  the  count,  with  a  look 
of  horror.  "  Pierrotin,  put  me  out." 

"Get  on,  Pierrotin,"  said  Mistigris.  "You  hear  that  the 
plague  was  suppressed,"  he  went  on,  addressing  Monsieur  de 
Serizy.  "  It  was  the  sort  of  plague  that  only  comes  out  in 
the  course  of  conversation." 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  261 

"  The  plague  of  which  one  merely  says,  '  Plague  take  it ! '  " 
cried  the  artist. 

"  Or  plague  take  the  man  !  "  added  Mistigris. 

"  Mistigris,"  said  his  master,  "  I  shall  put  you  out  to  walk 
if  you  get  into  mischief.  So  you  have  been  in  the  East, 
monsieur?  "  he  went  on,  turning  to  Georges. 

"  Yes,  monsieur.  First  in  Egypt  and  then  in  Greece, 
where  I  served  under  Ali  Pasha  of  Janina,  with  whom  I  had  a 
desperate  row.  The  climate  is  too  much  for  most  men ;  and 
the  excitements  of  all  kinds  that  are  part  of  an  Oriental  life 
wrecked  my  liver." 

"Oh,  ho,  a  soldier?"  said  the  burly  farmer.  "Why, 
how  old  are  you?" 

"I  am  nine-and-twenty,"  said  Georges,  and  all  his  fellow- 
travelers  looked  at  him.  "At  eighteen  I  served  as  a  private 
in  the  famous  campaign  of  1813;  but  I  only  was  present  at 
the  battle  of  Hanau,  where  I  won  the  rank  of  sergeant-major. 
In  France,  at  Montereau,  I  was  made  sub-lieutenant,  and  I 
was  decorated  by — no  spies  here? — by  the  Emperor." 

"And  you  do  not  wear  the  cross  of  your  order?"  said 
Oscar. 

"  A  cross  given  by  the  present  set  ?*  Thank  you  for  nothing. 
Beside,  who  that  is  anybody  wears  his  decorations  when 
traveling?  Look  at  monsieur,"  he  went  on,  indicating  the 
Comte  de  Serizy,  "  I  will  bet  you  anything  you  please " 

"  Betting  anything  you  please  is  the  same  thing  in  France 
as  not  betting  at  all,"  said  Mistigris'  master. 

"  I  will  bet  you  anything  you  please,"  Georges  repeated 
pompously,  "  that  he  is  covered  with  stars." 

"I  have,  in  fact,"  said  Monsieur  de  Serizy,  with  a  laugh, 
"the  Grand  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  the  Grand  Cross 
of  Saint- Andrew  of  Russia,  of  the  Eagle  of  Prussia,  of  the 
Order  of  the  Annunciada  of  Sardinia,  and  of  the  Golden 

Fleece." 

*  Ceux-ci. 


262  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  said  Mistigris.  "And  it  all  rides  in  a  public 
chaise?  " 

"  He  is  going  it,  is  the  brick-red  man?"  said  Georges  in  a 
whisper  to  Oscar.  "What  did  I  tell  you?"  he  remarked 
aloud.  "  I  make  no  secret  of  it,  I  am  devoted  to  the 
Emperor  !  " 

"  I  served  under  him,"  said  the  count. 

"  And  what  a  man  !     Wasn't  he  ?  "  cried  Georges. 

"A  man  to  whom  I  am  under  great  obligations,"  replied 
the  count,  with  a  well-affected  air  of  stupidity. 

"  For  your  crosses  ?  "  asked  Mistigris. 

"  And  what  quantities  of  snuff  he  took  !  "  replied  Monsieur 
de  Serizy. 

"  Yes,  he  carried  it  loose  in  his  waistcoat  pockets." 

"Sol  have  been  told,"  said  the  farmer,  with  a  look  of 
incredulity. 

"And  not  only  that,  but  he  chewed  and  smoked,"  Georges 
went  on.  "  I  saw  him  smoking  in  the  oddest  way  at  Water- 
loo when  Marshal  Soult  lifted  him  up  bodily  and  flung  him 
into  his  traveling  carriage,  just  as  he  had  seized  a  musket  and 
wanted  to  charge  the  English  !  " 

"So  you  were  at  Waterloo?"  said  Oscar,  opening  his  eyes 
very  wide. 

"Yes,  young  man,  I  went  through  the  campaign  of  1815. 
At  Mont  Saint-Jean  I  was  made  captain,  and  I  retired  on  the 
Loire  when  we  were  disbanded.  But,  on  my  honor,  I  was 
sick  of  France,  and  I  could  not  stay.  No,  I  should  have  got 
myself  into  some  scrape.  So  I  went  off  with  two  or  three 
others  of  the  same  sort,  Selves,  Besson,  and  some  more,  who 
are  in  Egypt  to  this  day  in  the  service  of  Mohammed  Pasha, 
and  a  queer  fellow  he  is,  I  can  tell  you  !  He  was  a  tobacco- 
nist at  la  Cavalle,  and  is  now  on  the  way  to  be  a  reigning 
prince.  You  have  seen  him  in  Horace  Vernet's  picture  of  the 
'Massacre  of  the  Mamelukes.'  Such  a  handsome  man  !  I 
never  would  abjure  the  faith  of  my  fathers  and  adopt  Islam ; 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  263 

all  the  more  because  the  ceremony  involves  a  surgical  opera- 
tion for  which  I  had  no  liking.  Beside,  no  one  respects  a 
renegade.  If  they  had  offered  me  a  hundred  thousand  francs 
a  year,  then,  indeed — and  yet — no.  The  pasha  made  me  a 
present  of  a  thousand  talari." 

"  How  much  is  that?  "  asked  Oscar,  who  was  all  ears. 

"Oh,  no  great  matter.  The  talaro  is  much  the  same  as  a 
five-franc  piece.  And,  on  my  honor,  I  did  not  earn  enough 
to  pay  for  the  vices  I  learned  in  that  thundering  vile  country 
— if  you  can  call  it  a  country.  I  cannot  live  now  without 
smoking  my  narghileh  twice  a  day,  and  it  is  very  expensive 
and " 

"And  what  is  Egypt  like?  "  asked  Monsieur  de  Serizy. 

"Egypt  is  all  sand,"  replied  Georges,  quite  undaunted. 
"There  is  nothing  green  but  the  Nile  valley.  Draw  a  green 
strip  on  a  sheet  of  yellow  paper,  and  there  you  have  Egypt. 
The  Egyptians,  the  fellaheen,  have,  I  may  remark,  one  great 
advantage  over  us  ;  there  are  no  gendarmes.  You  may  go 
from  one  end  of  Egypt  to  the  other,  and  you  will  not  find 
one." 

"But  I  suppose  there  are  a  good  many  Egyptians,"  said 
Mistigris. 

"Not  so  many  as  you  would  think,"  answered  Georges. 
"  There  are  more  Abyssinians,  Giaours,  Vechabites,  Bedouins, 
and  Copts.  However,  all  these  creatures  are  so  very  far  from 
amusing  that  I  was  only  too  glad  to  embark  on  a  Genoese 
polacra,  bound  for  the  Ionian  Islands  to  take  up  powder  and 
ammunition  for  Ali  of  Tebelen.  As  you  know,  the  English 
sell  powder  and  ammunition  to  all  nations,  to  the  Turks  and 
the  Greeks;  they  would  sell  them  to  the  devil  if  the  devil 
had  money.  So  from  Zante  we  were  to  luff  up  to  the  coast  of 
Greece. 

"And,  I  tell  you,  take  me  as  you  see  me,  the  name  of 
Georges  is  famous  in  those  parts.  I  am  the  grandson  of  that 
famous  Czerni-Georges  who  made  war  on  the  Porte ;  but  in- 


264  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

stead  of  breaking  it  down,  he  was  unluckily  smashed  up. 
His  son  took  refuge  in  the  house  of  the  French  Consul  at 
Smyrna,  and  came  to  Paris  in  1792,  where  he  died  before  I, 
his  seventh  child,  was  born.  Our  treasure  was  stolen  from  us 
by  a  friend  of  my  grandfather's,  so  we  were  ruined.  My 
mother  lived  by  selling  her  diamonds  one  by  one,  till  in  1799 
she  married  Monsieur  Yung,  a  contractor,  and  my  stepfather. 
But  my  mother  died ;  I  quarreled  with  my  stepfather,  who, 
between  ourselves,  is  a  rascal ;  he  is  still  living,  but  we  never 
meet.  The  wretch  left  us  all  seven  to  our  fate  without  a  word, 
orbit  or  sup.  And  that  is  how,  in  1813,  in  sheer  despair,  I 
went  off  as  a  conscript.  You  cannot  imagine  with  what  joy 
Ali  of  Tebelen  hailed  the  grandson  of  Czerni-Georges.  Here 
I  call  myself  simply  Georges.  The  pasha  gave  me  a  seraglio 
for " 

"You  had  a  seraglio?"  said  Oscar. 

"Were  you  a  pasha  with  many  tails?"  asked  Mistigris. 

"  How  is  it  that  you  don't  know  that  there  is  but  one  sultan 
who  can  create  pashas?  "  said  Georges,  "  and  my  friend  Tebe- 
len— for  we  were  friends,  like  two  Bourbons — was  a  rebel 
against  the  padischah.  You  know — or  you  don't  know — that 
the  grand  seignior's  correct  title  is  padischah,  and  not  the 
grand  turk  or  the  sultan. 

"  Do  not  suppose  that  a  seraglio  is  any  great  matter.  You 
might  just  as  well  have  a  flock  of  goats.  Their  women  are 
great  fools,  and  I  like  the  grisettes  of  the  Chaumi'ere  (cottages) 
at  Mont-Parnasse  a  thousand  times  better." 

"And  they  are  much  nearer,"  said  the  Comte  de  Serizy. 

"These  women  of  the  seraglio  never  know  a  word  of 
French,  and  language  is  indispensable  to  an  understanding. 
Ali  gave  me  five  lawful  wives  and  ten  slave  girl  .  At  Janina 
that  was  a  mere  nothing.  In  the  East,  you  see,  it  is  very  bad 
style  to  have  wives ;  you  have  them,  but  as  we  here  have  our 
Voltaire  and  our  Rousseau  ;  who  ever  looks  into  his  Voltaire 
or  his  Rousseau?  Nobody.  And  yet  it  is  quite  the  right 


A   STAA'T  IN  LIFE.  265 

thing  to  be  jealous.  You  may  tie  a  woman  up  in  a  sack  and 
throw  her  into  the  water  on  a  mere  suspicion  by  an  article  of 
their  Code." 

"  Did  you  throw  any  in  ?  " 

"  I  ?    What !  a  Frenchman  !     I  was  devoted  to  them." 

Whereupon  Georges  twirled  up  his  mustache,  and  assumed 
a  pensive  air. 

By  this  time  they  were  at  Saint-Denis,  and  Pierrotin  drew 
up  at  the  door  of  the  inn  where  the  famous  cheese-cakes  are 
sold,  and  where  all  travelers  call.  The  count,  really  puzzled 
by  the  mixture  of  truth  and  nonsense  in  Georges'  rhodomon- 
tade,  jumped  into  the  carriage  again,  looked  under  the  cushion 
for  the  portfolio  which  Pierrotin  had  told  him  that  this  mys- 
terious youth  had  bestowed  there,  and  saw  on  it  in  gilt  letters 
the  words,  "  Maitre  Crottat,  Notaire."  The  count  at  once 
took  the  liberty  of  opening  the  case,  fearing,  with  good  reason, 
that  if  he  did  not,  Farmer  Leger  might  be  possessed  with 
similar  curosity;  and  taking  out  the  deed  relating  to  the 
Moulineaux  farm,  he  folded  it  up,  put  it  in  the  side-pocket  of 
his  coat,  and  came  back  to  join  his  fellow-travelers. 

"This  Georges  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  Crottat's  junior 
clerk.  I  will  congratulate  his  master,  who  ought  to  have  sent 
his  head-clerk." 

From  the  respectful  attention  of  the  farmer  and  Oscar, 
Georges  perceived  that  in  them  at  least  he  had  two  ardent 
admirers.  Of  course,  he  put  on  lordly  airs ;  he  treated  them 
to  cheese-cakes  and  a  glass  of  Alicante,  and  offered  the  same 
to  Mistigris  and  his  master,  which  they  refused,  asking  them 
their  names  on  the  strength  of  this  munificence. 

"Oh,  monsieur,"  said  the  elder,  "I  am  not  the  proud 
owner  of  so  illustrious  a  name  as  yours,  and  I  have  not  come 
home  from  Asia."  The  count,  who  had  made  haste  to  get 
back  to  the  vast  inn  kitchen,  so  as  to  excite  no  suspicions, 
came  in  time  to  hear  the  end  of  the  reply.  "  I  am  simply  a 
poor  painter  just  returned  from  Rome,  where  I  went  at  the 


266  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

expense  of  the  Government  after  winning  the  Grand  Prize  five 
years  ago.  My  name  is  Schinner." 

"Halloo,  master,  may  I  offer  you  a  glass  of  Alicante  and 
some  cheese-cakes?  "  cried  Georges  to  the  count. 

"Thank  you,  no,"  said  the  count.  "I  never  come  out 
till  I  have  had  my  cup  of  coffee  and  cream." 

"And  you  never  eat  anything  between  meals?  How 
Marais,  Place  Royale,  lie  Saint-Louis  .' ' '  exclaimed  Georges. 
"When  he  crammed  us  just  now  about  his  orders,  I  fancied 
him  better  fun  than  he  is,"  he  went  on  in  a  low  voice  to  the 
painter;  "but  we  will  get  him  on  to  that  subject  again — 
the  little  tallow-chandler.  Come,  boy,"  said  he  to  Oscar, 
"drink  the  glass  that  was  poured  out  for  the  grocer,  it  will 
make  your  mustache  grow." 

Oscar,  anxious  to  play  the  man,  drank  the  second  glass  of 
wine,  and  ate  three  more  cheese-cakes. 

"Very  good  wine  it  is!"  said  old  Leger,  smacking  his 
tongue. 

"And  all  the  better,"  remarked  Georges,  "because  it 
comes  from  Bercy.  I  have  been  to  Alicante,  and,  I  tell  you, 
this  is  no  more  like  the  wine  of  that  country  than  my  arm  is 
like  a  windmill.  Our  manufactured  wines  are  far  better  than 
the  natural  products.  Come,  Pierrotin,  have  a  glass.  What 
a  pity  it  is  that  your  horses  cannot  each  drink  one ;  we 
should  get  on  faster  ! ' ' 

"Oh,  that  is  unnecessary,  as  I  have  a  gray  horse  already," 
said  Pierrotin  (gris,  which  means  gray,  meaning  also  screwed}. 

Oscar,  as  he  heard  the  vulgar  pun,  thought  Pierrotin  a 
marvel  of  wit. 

"Off!  "  cried  Pierrotin,  cracking  his  whip,  as  soon  as  the 
passengers  had  once  more  packed  themselves  into  the  vehicle. 

It  was  by  this  time  eleven  o'clock.  The  weather,  which 
had  been  rather  dull,  now  cleared ;  the  wind  swept  away  the 
clouds ;  the  blue  sky  shone  out  here  and  there ;  and  by  the 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  267 

time  Pierrotin's  chaise  was  fairly  started  on  the  ribbon  of 
road  between  Saint-Denis  and  Pierrefitte,  the  sun  had  finally 
drunk  up  the  last  filmy  haze  that  hung  like  a  diaphanous  veil 
over  the  views  from  this  famous  suburb. 

"  Well,  and  why  did  you  throw  over  your  friend  the 
pasha  ?  ' '  said  the  farmer  to  Georges. 

"He  was  a  very  queer  customer,"  replied  Georges,  with  an 
air  of  hiding  many  mysteries.  "Only  think,  he  put  me  in 
command  of  his  cavalry  !  Very  well " 

"  That,"  thought  poor  Oscar,  "  is  why  he  wears  spurs." 

"At  that  time,  AH  of  Tebelen  wanted  to  rid  himself  of 
Chosrew  Pasha,  another  queer  fish.  Chaureff  you  call  him 
here,  but  in  Turkey  they  call  him  Cosserev.  You  must  have 
read  in  the  papers  at  the  time  that  old  Ali  had  beaten  Chos- 
rew and  pretty  soundly,  too.  Well,  but  for  me,  Ali  would 
have  been  done  for  some  days  sooner.  I  led  the  right  wing, 
and  I  saw  Chosrew,  the  old  sneak,  just  charging  the  centre — 
oh,  yes,  I  can  tell  you,  as  straight  and  steady  a  move  as  if  he 
had  been  Murat.  Good  !  I  took  my  time,  and  I  charged  at 
full  speed,  cutting  Chosrew's  column  in  two  parts,  for  he  had 
pushed  through  our  centre,  and  had  no  cover.  You  under- 
stand  

"After  it  was  all  over  Ali  fairly  kissed  me." 

"Is  that  the  custom  in  the  East?"  said  the  Comte  de 
Serizy,  with  a  touch  of  irony. 

"Yes,  monsieur,  as  it  is  everywhere,"  answered  the  painter. 

"  We  drove  Chosrew  back  over  thirty  leagues  of  country — 
like  a  hunt,  I  tell  you,"  Georges  went  on.  "  Splendid  horse- 
men are  the  Turks.  Ali  gave  me  yataghans,  guns,  and  swords  : 
'  Take  as  many  as  you  like.'  When  we  got  back  to  the  capi- 
tal, that  incredible  creature  made  proposals  to  me  that  did 
not  suit  my  views  at  all.  He  wanted  to  adopt  me  as  his 
favorite,  his  heir.  But  I  had  had  enough  of  the  life ;  for, 
after  all,  Ali  of  Tebelen  was  a  rebel  against  the  Porte,  and  I 
thought  it  wiser  to  clear  out.  But  I  must  do  Monsieur  de 


268  A  START  JN  LIFE. 

Tebelen  justice,  he  loaded  me  with  presents;  diamonds,  ten 
thousand  talari,  a  thousand  pieces  of  gold,  a  fair  Greek  girl 
for  a  page,  a  little  Arnaute  maid  for  company,  and  an  Arab 
horse.  Well,  there  !  Ali,  the  Pasha  of  Janina,  is  an  unappre- 
ciated man ;  he  lacks  a  historian.  Nowhere  but  in  the  East 
do  you  meet  with  these  iron  souls  who,  for  twenty  years, 
strain  every  nerve,  only  to  be  able  to  take  a  revenge  one  fine 
morning. 

"  In  the  first  place,  he  had  the  grandest  white  beard  you 
ever  saw,  and  a  hard,  stern  face — " 

"But  what  became  of  your  treasure?"  asked  the  farmer. 

"Ah!  there  you  are!  Those  people  have  no  State  funds 
nor  Bank  of  France ;  so  I  packed  my  money-bags  on  board 
a  Greek  tartane,  which  was  captured  by  the  capitan-pasha 
himself.  Then  I  myself,  as  you  see  me,  was  within  an  ace  of 
being  impaled  at  Smyrna.  Yes,  on  my  honor,  but  for  Mon- 
sieur de  Riviere,  the  ambassador,  who  happened  to  be  on  the 
spot,  I  should  have  been  executed  as  an  ally  of  Ali  Pasha's. 
I  saved  my  head,  or  I  could  not  speak  so  plainly;  but  as  for 
the  ten  thousand  talari,  the  thousand  pieces  of  gold,  and  the 
weapons,  oh !  that  was  all  swallowed  down  by  that  greedy- 
guts  the  capitan-pasha.  My  position  was  all  the  more  ticklish 
because  the  capitan-pasha  was  Chosrew  himself.  After  the 
dressing  he  had  had,  the  scamp  had  got  this  post,  which  is 
equal  to  that  of  high  admiral  in  France." 

"But  he  had  been  in  the  cavalry,  as  I  understood?"  said 
old  Leger,  who  had  been  listening  attentively  to  this  long 
story. 

"Dear  me,  how  little  the  East  is  understood  in  the  De- 
partment of  Seine  et  Oise!"  exclaimed  Georges.  "Mon- 
sieur, the  Turks  are  like  that.  You  are  a  farmer,  the  padis- 
chah  makes  you  a  field-marshal ;  if  you  do  not  fulfill  your 
duties  to  his  satisfaction,  so  much  the  worse  for  you.  Off 
with  your  head !  That  is  his  way  of  dismissing  you.  A 
gardener  is  made  prefect,  and  a  prime  minister  is  a  private 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  269 

once  more.  The  Ottomans  know  no  laws  of  promotion  or 
hierarchy.  Chosrew,  who  had  been  a  horseman,  was  now  a 
sailor.  The  Padischah  Mohammed  had  instructed  him  to  fall 
on  All  by  sea;  and  he  had,  in  fact,  mastered  him,  but  only  by 
the  help  of  the  English,  who  got  the  best  of  the  booty,  the 
thieves  !  They  laid  hands  on  the  treasure. 

"  This  Chosrew,  who  had  not  forgotten  the  riding-lesson  I 
had  given  him,  recognized  me  at  once.  As  you  may  suppose, 
I  was  settled — oh  !  done  for  ! — if  it  had  not  occurred  to  me 
to  appeal,  as  a  Frenchman  and  a  troubadoui,  to  Monsieur  de 
Riviere.  The  ambassador,  delighted  to  assert  himself,  de- 
manded my  release.  The  Turks  have  this  great  merit,  they 
are  as  ready  to  let  you  go  as  to  cut  off  your  head ;  they  are 
indifferent  to  everything.  The  French  consul,  a  charming 
man,  and  a  friend  of  Chosrew's,  got  him  to  restore  two 
thousand  talari,  and  his  name,  I  may  say,  is  graven  on  my 
heart " 

"And  his  name ?"  asked  Monsieur  de  Serizy. 

He  could  not  forbear  a  look  of  surprise  when  Georges,  in 
fact,  mentioned  the  name  of  one  of  our  most  distinguished 
consuls-general,  who  was  at  Smyrna  at  the  time. 

"  I  was  present,  as  it  fell  out,  at  the  execution  of  the  Com- 
mandant of  Smyrna,  the  padischah  having  ordered  Chosrew 
to  put  him  to  death — one  of  the  most  curious  things  I  ever 
saw,  though  I  have  seen  many.  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it 
by-and-by  at  breakfast. 

"  From  Smyrna  I  went  to  Spain,  on  hearing  there  was  a 
revolution  there.  I  went  straight  to  Mina,  who  took  me  for 
an  aide-de-camp,  and  gave  me  the  rank  of  colonel.  So  I 
fought  for  the  Constitutional  party,  which  is  going  to  the  dogs, 
for  we  shall  walk  into  Spain  one  of  these  days." 

"And  you  a  French  officer!"  said  the  Comte  de  Serizy 
severely.  "You  are  trusting  very  rashly  to  the  discretion  of 
your  hearers." 

"There  are  no  spies  among  them,"  said  Georges. 


270  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

"  And  does  it  not  occur  to  you,  Colonel  Georges,"  said  the 
count,  "  that  at  this  very  time  a  conspiracy  is  being  inquired 
into  by  the  Chamber  of  Peers,  which  makes  the  Government 
very  strict  in  its  dealings  with  soldiers  who  bear  arms  against 
France,  or  who  aid  in  intrigues  abroad  tending  to  the  over- 
throw of  any  legitimate  sovereign  ?" 

At  this  ominous  remark,  the  painter  reddened  up  to  his  ears, 
and  glanced  at  Mistigris,  who  was  speechless. 

"  Well,  and  what  then?"  asked  old  Leger. 

"Why,  if  I  by  chance  were  a  magistrate,  would  it  not  be 
my  duty  to  call  on  the  gendarmes  of  the  Brigade  at  Pierrefitte 
to  arrest  Mina's  aide-de-camp,"  said  the  count,  "and  to  sum- 
mons all  who  are  in  this  chaise  as  witnesses?" 

This  speech  silenced  Georges  all  the  more  effectually  because 
the  vehicle  was  just  passing  the  Police  Station,  where  the  white 
flag  was,  to  use  a  classical  phrase,  floating  on  the  breeze. 

"You  have  too  many  orders  to  be  guilty  of  such  mean  con- 
duct," said  Oscar. 

"We  will  play  him  a  trick  yet,"  whispered  Georges  to 
Oscar. 

"Colonel,"  said  Leger,  very  much  discomfited  by  the 
count's  outburst,  and  anxious  to  change  the  subject,  "  in  the 
countries  where  you  have  traveled,  what  is  the  farming  like? 
What  are  their  crops  in  rotation?" 

"  In  the  first  place,  my  good  friend,  you  must  understand 
that  the  people  are  too  busy  smoking  weeds  to  burn  them  on 
the  land " 

The  count  could  not  help  smiling,  and  his  smile  reassured 
the  narrator. 

"And  they  have  a  way  of  cultivating  the  land  which  you 
will  think  strange.  They  do  not  cultivate  it  at  all ;  that  is 
their  system.  The  Turks  and  Greeks  eat  onions  or  rice ;  they 
collect  opium  from  their  poppies,  which  yields  a  large  revenue, 
and  tobacco  grows  almost  wild — their  famous  Latakia.  Then 
there  are  dates,  bunches  of  sugar-plums,  that  grow  without  any 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  27i 

trouble.  It  is  a  country  of  endless  resources  and  trade. 
Quantities  of  carpets  are  made  at  Smyrna,  and  not  dear." 

"Ay,"  said  the  farmer,  "  but  if  the  carpets  are  made  of 
wool,  wool  comes  from  sheep ;  and  to  have  sheep,  they  must 
have  fields,  farms,  and  farming ' 

"  There  must,  no  doubt,  be  something  of  the  kind,"  replied 
Georges.  "But  rice,  in  the  first  place,  grows  in  water;  and 
then  I  have  always  been  near  the  coast,  and  have  only  seen 
the  country  devastated  by  war.  Beside,  I  have  a  perfect 
horror  of  statistics." 

"And  the  taxes?  "  said  the  farmer. 

"Ah !  the  taxes  are  heavy.  The  people  are  robbed  of  every- 
thing, and  allowed  to  keep  the  rest.  The  Pasha  of  Egypt, 
struck  by  the  merits  of  this  system,  was  organizing  the  admin- 
istration on  that  basis  when  I  left." 

"  But  how?  "  said  old  Leger,  who  was  utterly  puzzled. 

"How?"  echoed  Georges.  "There  are  collectors  who 
seize  the  crops,  leaving  the  peasants  just  enough  to  live  on. 
And  by  that  system  there  is  no  trouble  with  papers  and  red 
tape,  the  plague  of  France.  There  you  are  !  " 

"  But  what  right  have,  they  to  do  it  ?"  asked  the  farmer. 

"It  is  the  land  of  despotism,  that's  all.  Did  you  never 
hear  Montesquieu's  fine  definition  of  Despotism — '  Like  the 
savage,  it  cuts  the  tree  down  to  gather  the  fruit.' ' 

"And  that  is  what  they  want  to  bring  us  to !  "  cried  Mis- 
tigris.  "  But  ^burnt  rat  dreads  the  mire." 

"And  it  is  what  we  shall  come  to,"  exclaimed  the  Comte 
de  Serizy.  "Those  who  hold  land  will  be  wise  to  sell  it. 
Monsieur  Schinner  must  have  seen  how  such  things  are  done 
in  Italy." 

"Corpo  di  Baceo!  The  pope  is  not  behind  his  times.  But 
they  are  used  to  it  there.  The  Italians  are  such  good  people ! 
So  long  as  they  are  allowed  to  do  a  little  highway  murdering 
of  travelers,  they  are  quite  content." 

"But  you,  too,  do  not  wear  the  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of 


272  A  START  IN  LIFE. 

Honor  that  was  given  you  in  1819,"  remarked  the  count. 
"  Is  the  fashion  universal  ?  " 

Mistigris  and  the  false  Schinner  reddened  up  to  their  very 
hair. 

"Oh,  with  me  it  is  different,"  replied  Schinner.  "I  do 
not  wish  to  be  recognized.  Do  not  betray  me,  monsieur.  I 
mean  to  pass  for  a  quite  unimportant  painter;  in  fact,  a  mere 
decorator.  I  am  going  to  a  gentleman's  house  where  I  am 
anxious  to  excite  no  suspicion." 

"  Oh,  ho  !  "  said  the  count,  "  a  lady  !  a  love  affair  !  How 
happy  you  are  to  be  young !  " 

Oscar,  who  was  bursting  in  his  skin  with  envy  at  being 
nobody  and  having  nothing  to  say,  looked  from  Colonel 
Czerni-Georges  to  Schinner  the  great  artist,  wondering  whether 
he  could  not  make  something  of  himself.  But  what  could 
he  be,  a  boy  of  nineteen,  packed  off  to  spend  a  fortnight  or 
three  weeks  in  the  country  with  the  steward  of  Presles  ?  The 
Alicante  had  gone  to  his  head,  and  his  conceit  was  making 
the  blood  boil  in  his  veins.  Thus,  when  the  sham  Schinner 
seemed  to  hint  at  some  romantic  adventure  of  which  the  joys 
must  be  equal  to  the  danger,  he  gazed  at  him  with  eyes 
flashing  with  rage  and  envy. 

"Ah  !  "  said  the  count,  with  a  look  half  of  envy  and  half 
of  incredulity,  "  you  must  love  a  woman  very  much  to  make 
such  sacrifices  for  her  sake." 

"What  sacrifices?"  asked  Mistigris. 

"Don't  you  know,  my  little  friend,  that  a  ceiling  painted 
by  so  great  a  master  is  covered  with  gold  in  payment?" 
replied  the  count.  "Why,  if  the  Civil  List  pays  you  thirty 
thousand  francs  for  those  of  the  two  rooms  in  the  Louvre," 
he  went  on,  turning  to  Schinner,  "  you  would  certainly 
charge  a  humble  individual,  a  bourgeois,  as  you  call  us  in  your 
studios,  twenty  thousand  for  a  ceiling,  while  an  unknown 
decorator  would  hardly  get  two  thousand  francs." 

"The  money  loss  is  not  the  worst  of  it,"  replied  Mistigris. 


A    START  IN  LIFE.  273 

"  You  must  consider  that  it  will  be  a  masterpiece,  and  that 
he  must  not  sign  it  for  fear  of  compromising  her." 

"  Ah  !  I  would  gladly  restore  all  my  orders  to  the  sovereigns 
of  Europe  to  be  loved  as  a  young  man  must  be,  to  be  moved 
to  such  devotion  !"  cried  Monsieur  de  Serizy. 

"Ay,  there  you  are,"  said  Mistigris.  "A  man  who  is 
young  is  beloved  of  many  women  ;  and  as  the  saying  goes, 
there  is  safety  in  grumblers." 

"And  what  does  Madame  Schinner  say  to  it?"  asked  the 
count,  "for  you  married  for  love  the  charming  Adelaide  de 
Rouville,*  the  niece  of  old  Admiral  Kergarouet,  who  got 
you  the  work  at  the  Louvre,  I  believe,  through  the  interest 
of  his  nephew  the  Comte  de  Fontaine." 

"  Is  a  painter  ever  a  married  man  when  he  is  traveling  ?  " 
asked  Mistigris. 

"That,  then,  is  Studio  morality?"  exclaimed  the  count  in 
an  idiomatic  way. 

"  Is  th2  morality  of  the  courts  where  you  got  your  orders 
any  better?  "  said  Schinner,  who  had  recovered  his  presence 
of  mind,  which  had  deserted  him  for  a  moment  when  he 
heard  that  the  count  was  so  well  informed  as  to  the  commission 
given  to  the  real  Schinner. 

"I  never  asked  for  one,"  replied  the  count.  "I  flatter 
myself  that  they  were  all  honestly  earned." 

"And  it  becomes  you  like  a  pig  in  dress-boots,"  said 
Mistigris. 

Monsieur  de  Serizy  would  not  betray  himself;  he  put  on 
an  air  of  stupid  good-nature  as  he  looked  out  over  the  valley 
of  Groslay,  into  which  they  diverged  where  the  roads  fork, 
taking  the  road  to  Saint-Brice,  and  leaving  that  to  Chantilly 
on  their  right. 

"Ay,  take  that  !  "  said  Oscar  between  his  teeth. 

"  And  is  Rome  as  fine  as  it  is  said  to  be  ?  "  Georges  asked 
of  the  painter. 

See  "  The  Purse." 
18 


274  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

11  Rome  is  fine  only  to  those  who  love  it ;  you  must  have  a 
passion  for  it  to  be  happy  there ;  but,  as  a  town,  I  prefer 
Venice,  though  I  was  near  being  assassinated  there." 

"My  word!  But  for  me,"  said  Mistigris,  "your  goose 
would  have  been  cooked  !  It  was  that  rascal  Lord  Byron  who 
played  you  that  trick.  That  devil  of  an  Englishman  was  as 
mad  as  a  hatter!  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,"  said  Schinner.  "  I  won't  have  any- 
thing known  of  my  affair  with  Lord  Byron." 

"But  you  must  confess,"  said  Mistigris,  "that  you  were 
very  glad,  indeed,  that  I  had  learned  to  *  box '  in  our  French 
fashion?" 

Now  and  again  Pierrotin  and  the  count  exchanged  signifi- 
cant glances,  which  would  have  disturbed  men  a  little  more 
worldly-wise  than  these  five  fellow-travelers. 

"Lords  and  pashas,  and  ceilings  worth  thirty  thousand 
francs!  Bless  me!"  cried  the  1' Isle- Adam  carrier,  "I  have 
crowned  heads  on  board  to-day.  What  handsome  tips  I  shall 
get!" 

"To  say  nothing  of  the  places  being  paid  for,"  said  Mis- 
tigris slily. 

"It  comes  in  the  nick  of  time,"  Pierrotin  went  on.  "For, 
you  know,  my  fine  new  coach,  Pere  Leger,  for  which  I  paid 
two  thousand  francs  on  account — well,  those  swindling  coach- 
builders,  to  whom  I  am  to  pay  two  thousand  five  hundred  francs 
to-morrow,  would  not  take  fifteen  hundred  francs  down  and  a 
bill  for  a  thousand  at  two  months.  The  vultures  insist  on  it  all 
in  ready  money.  Fancy  being  as  hard  as  that  on  a  man  who 
has  traveled  this  road  for  eight  years,  the  father  of  a  family, 
and  putting  him  in  danger  of  losing  everything,  money  and 
coach  both,  for  lack  of  a  wretched  sum  of  a  thousand  francs  ! 
Gee  up,  Bichette.  They  would  not  dare  to  do  it  to  one  of  the 
big  companies,  I  lay  a  wager." 

"Bless  me  !     No  thong,  no  crupper  !  "  said  the  student. 

"You  have  only  eight  hundred  francs  to  seek,"  replied  the 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  275 

count,  understanding  that  this  speech,  addressed  to  the  farmer, 
was  a  sort  of  bill  drawn  on  himself. 

"  That's  true,"  said  Pierrotin.  "  Come  up,  Rougeot ;  there, 
Bichette!" 

"You  must  have  seen  some  fine-painted  ceilings  at  Venice," 
said  the  count,  speaking  to  Schinner. 

"I  was  too  desperately  in  love  to  pay  any  attention  to  what 
at  the  time  seemed  to  me  mere  trifles,"  replied  Schinner. 
"And'  yet  I  might  have  been  cured  of  love-affairs ;  for  in  the 
Venetian  States  themselves,  in  Dalmatia,  I  had  just  had  a  sharp 
lesson." 

"Can  you  tell  the  tale?"  asked  Georges.  "I  know  Dal- 
matia." 

"  Well,  then,  if  you  have  been  there,  you  know,  of  course, 
that  up  in  that  corner  of  the  Adriatic  they  are  all  old  pirates, 
outlaws,  and  corsairs  retired  from  business,  when  they  have 
escaped  hanging,  all " 

"Uscoques,  in  short,"  said  Georges. 

On  hearing  this,  the  right  name,  the  count,  whom  Napoleon 
had  sent  into  the  province  of  Illyria,  looked  sharply  round,  so 
much  was  he  astonished. 

"It  was  in  the  town  where  the  maraschino  is  made,"  said 
Schinner,  seeming  to  try  to  remember  a  name. 

"Zara,"  said  Georges.  "Yes,  I  have  been  there;  it  is  on 
the  coast." 

"You  have  hit  it,"  said  the  painter.  "  I  went  there  to  see 
the  country,  for  I  have  a  passion  for  landscape.  Twenty  times 
have  I  made  up  my  mind  to  try  landscape  painting,  which  no 
one  understands,  in  my  opinion,  but  Mistigris,  who  will  one 
of  these  days  be  a  Hobbema,  Ruysdael,  Claude  Lorraine, 
Poussin,  and  all  the  tribe  in  one." 

"Well,"  exclaimed  the  count,  "  if  he  is  but  one  of  them, 
he  will  do." 

"  If  you  interrupt  so  often  we  shall  never  know  where  we 
are." 


276  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

"  Beside,  our  friend  here  is  not  speaking  to  you/'  added 
Georges  to  the  count. 

"It  is  not  good  manners  to  interrupt,"  said  Mitigris  sen- 
tentiously.  "  However,  we  did  the  same ;  and  we  should  all  be 
the  losers  if  we  didn't  diversify  the  conversation  by  an  ex- 
change of  reflections.  All  Frenchmen  are  equal  in  a  public 
chaise,  as  the  grandson  of  Czerni-Georges  told  us.  So  pray 
go  on,  delightful  old  man,  more  of  your  bunkum.  It  is  quite 
the  correct  thing  in  the  best  society ;  and  you  know  the  saying, 
Do  in  Turkey  as  the  Turkeys  do." 

"I  had  heard  wonders  of  Dalmatia,"  Schinner  went  on. 
"So  off  I  went,  leaving  Mistigris  at  the  inn  at  Venice." 

"  At  the  locanda"  said  Mistigris;  "  put  in  the  local  color." 

"  Zara  is,  as  I  have  been  told,  a  vile  hole " 

"Yes,"  said  Georges;  "but  it  is  fortified." 

"I  should  say  so!"  replied  Schinner,  "and  the  fortifica- 
tions are  an  important  feature  in  my  story.  At  Zara  there 
are  a  great  many  apothecaries,  and  I  lodged  with  one  of  them. 
In  foreign  countries  the  principal  business  of  every  native  is 
to  let  lodgings,  his  trade  is  purely  accessory. 

"  In  the  evening,  when  I  had  changed  my  shirt,  I  went  out 
on  my  balcony.  Now  on  the  opposite  balcony  I  perceived  a 
woman — oh  !  But  a  woman  !  A  Greek ;  that  says  everything, 
the  loveliest  creature  in  all  the  town.  Almond  eyes,  eyelids 
that  came  down  over  them  like  blinds,  and  lashes  like  paint- 
brushes; an  oval  face  that  might  have  turned  Raphael's  brain, 
a  complexion  of  exquisite  hue,  melting  tones,  a  skin  of  velvet 
— hands— oh  !  " 

"And  not  moulded  in  butter  like  those  of  David's  school," 
said  Mistigris. 

"You  insist  on  talking  like  a  painter !  "  cried  Georges. 

"There,  you  see !  drive  nature  out  with  a  pitchfork  and  it 
comes  back  in  a  paint-box,"  replied  Mistigris. 

"And  her  costume — a  genuine  Greek  costume,"  Schinner 
went  on.  "As  you  may  suppose,  I  was  in  flames.  I  ques- 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  277 

tioned  my  Diafoirus,  and  he  informed  me  that  my  fair  neigh- 
bor's name  was  Zena.  I  changed  my  shirt.  To  marry  Zena, 
her  husband,  an  old  villain,  had  paid  her  parents  three  hun- 
dred thousand  francs,  the  girl's  beauty  was  so  famous ;  and 
she  really  was  the  loveliest  creature  in  all  Dalmatia,  Illyria, 
and  the  Adriatic.  In  that  part  of  the  world  you  buy  your 
wife  and  without  having  seen  her " 

"  I  will  not  go  there,"  said  old  Leger. 

"My  sleep,  some  nights,  is  illuminated  by  Zena's  eyes," 
said  Schinner.  "  Her  adoring  young  husband  was  sixty-seven. 
Good  !  But  he  was  as  jealous — not  as  a  tiger,  for  they  say  a 
tiger  is  as  jealous  as  a  Dalmatian,  and  my  man  was  worse  than 
a  Dalmatian  ;  he  was  equal  to  three  Dalmatians  and  a  half. 
He  was  an  Uscoque,  a  turkey-cock,  a  high  cockalorum  game- 
cock !  " 

"  In  short,  the  worthy  hero  of  a  cock-and-bull  story,"  said 
Mistigris. 

"  Good  for  you !  "  replied  Georges,  laughing. 

"After  being  a  corsair,  and  perhaps  a  pirate,  my  man 
thought  no  more  of  spitting  a  Christian  than  I  do  of  spitting 
out  of  window,"  Schinner  went  on.  "A  pretty  lookout  for 
me.  And  rich — rolling  in  millions,  the  old  villain  !  And  as 
ugly  as  a  pirate  may  be,  for  some  pasha  had  wanted  his  ears, 
and  he  had  dropped  an  eye  somewhere  on  his  travels.  But 
my  Uscoque  made  good  use  of  the  one  he  had,  and  you  may 
take  my  word  for  it  when  I  tell  you  he  had  eyes  all  round  his 
head.  '  Never  does  he  let  his  wife  out  of  his  sight,'  said 
my  little  Diafoirus.  '  If  she  should  require  your  services,  I 
would  take  your  place  in  disguise,'  said  I.  '  It  is  a  trick  that 
is  very  successful  in  our  stage- plays. '  It  would  take  too  long 
to  describe  the  most  delightful  period  of  my  life,  three  days, 
to  wit,  that  I  spent  at  my  window  ogling  Zena,  and  putting 
on  a  clean  shirt  every  morning.  The  situation  was  all  the 
more  ticklish  and  exciting  because  the  least  gesture  bore  some 
dangerous  meaning.  Finally,  Zena,  no  doubt,  came  to  the 


278  A  START  IN  LIFE. 

conclusion  that  in  all  the  world  none  but  a  foreigner,  a  French- 
man, and  an  artist  would  be  capable  of  making  eyes  at  her  in 
the  midst  of  the  perils  that  surrounded  him ;  so,  as  she  exe- 
crated her  hideous  pirate,  she  responded  to  my  gaze  with 
glances  that  were  enough  to  lift  a  man  into  the  vault  of  par- 
adise without  any  need  of  pulleys.  I  was  screwed  up  higher 
and  higher  !  I  was  tuned  to  the  pitch  of  Don  Quixote.  At 
last  I  exclaimed  :  '  Well,  the  old  wretch  may  kill  me,  but  here 
goes ! '  Not  a  landscape  did  I  study ;  I  was  studying  my 
corsair's  lair.  At  night,  having  put  on  my  most  highly  scented 
clean  shirt,  I  crossed  the  street  and  I  went  in " 

"  Into  the  house  ?  "  cried  Oscar. 

"  Into  the  house  ?  "  said  Georges. 

"Into  the  house,"  repeated  Schinner. 

"  Well !  you  are  as  bold  as  brass  !  "  cried  the  farmer.  "  I 
wouldn't  have  gone,  that's  all  I  can  say " 

"With  all  the  more  reason  that  you  would  have  stuck  in 
the  door,"  replied  Schinner.  "Well,  I  went  in,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  and  I  felt  two  hands  which  took  hold  of  mine.  I 
said  nothing;  for  those  hands,  as  smooth  as  the  skin  of  an 
onion,  impressed  silence  on  me.  A  whisper  in  my  ear  said 
in  Venetian,  'He  is  asleep.'  Then,  being  sure  that  no  one 
would  meet  us,  Zena  and  I  went  out  on  the  ramparts  for  an 
airing,  but  escorted,  if  you  please,  by  an  old  duenna  as  ugly 
as  sin,  who  stuck  to  us  like  a  shadow;  and  I  could  not  induce 
Madame  la  Pirate  to  dismiss  this  ridiculous  attendant. 

"  Next  evening  we  did  the  same ;  I  wanted  to  send  the  old 
woman  home ;  Zena  refused.  As  my  fair  one  spoke  Greek, 
and  I  spoke  Venetian,  we  could  come  to  no  understanding — 
we  parted  in  anger  !  Said  I  to  myself,  as  I  changed  my  shirt : 
'  Next  time  surely  there  will  be  no  old  woman,  and  we  can 
make  friends  again,  each  in  our  mother  tongue.'  Well,  and 
it  was  the  old  woman  that  saved  me,  as  you  shall  hear.  It 
was  so  fine  that,  to  divert  suspicion,  I  went  out  to  look  about 
me,  after  we  had  made  it  up,  of  course.  After  walking  round 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  279 

the  ramparts,  I  was  coming  quietly  home  with  my  hands  in 
my  pockets  when  I  saw  the  street  packed  full  of  people.  Such 
a  crowd  !  as  if  there  was  an  execution.  This  crowd  rushed 
at  me.  I  was  arrested,  handcuffed,  and  led  off  in  charge  of 
the  police.  No,  you  cannot  imagine,  and  I  hope  you  may 
never  know,  what  it  is  to  be  supposed  to  be  a  murderer  by  a 
frenzied  mob,  throwing  stones  at  you,  yelling  after  you  from 
top  to  bottom  of  the  high  street  of  a  country  town,  and  pur- 
suing you  with  threats  of  death  !  Every  eye  is  a  flame  of 
fire,  abuse  is  on  every  lip,  these  firebrands  of  loathing  flare  up 
above  a  hideous  cry  of  '  Kill  him  !  down  with  the  murderer ! ' 
a  sort  of  bass  in  the  background." 

"  So  your  Dalmatians  yelled  in  French?"  said  the  count. 
"  You  describe  the  scene  as  if  it  had  happened  yesterday." 

Schinner  was  for  the  moment  dumfounded. 

"The  mob  speaks  the  same  language  everywhere,"  said 
Mistigris  the  politician. 

"Finally,"  Schinner  went  on  again,  "when  I  was  in  the 
local  Court  of  Justice  and  in  the  presence  of  the  judges  of 
that  country,  I  was  informed  that  the  diabolical  corsair  was 
dead,  poisoned  by  Zena.  How  I  wished  I  could  put  on  a 
clean  shirt  ! 

"  On  my  soul,  I  knew  nothing  about  this  melodrama.  It 
would  seem  that  the  fair  Greek  was  wont  to  add  a  little  opium 
— poppies  are  so  plentiful  there,  as  monsieur  has  told  you — to 
her  pirate's  grog  to  secure  a  few  minutes'  liberty  to  take  a 
walk,  and  the  night  before  the  poor  woman  had  made  a  mis- 
take in  the  dose.  It  was  the  damned  corsair's  money  that 
made  the  trouble  for  my  Zena ;  but  she  accounted  for  every- 
thing so  simply  that  I  was  released  at  once  on  thiJstrength 
of  the  old  woman's  affidavit,  with  an  order  from  the  mayor  of 
the  town  and  the  Austrian  commissioner  of  police  to  remove 
myself  to  Rome.  Z6na,  who  allowed  the  heirs  and  the  officers 
of  the  law  to  help  themselves  liberally  to  the  Uscoque's  wealth, 
was  let  off,  I  was  told,  with  two  years'  seclusion  in  a  convent, 


280  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

where  she  still  is.  I  will  go  back  and  paint  her  portrait,  for 
in  a  few  years  everything  will  be  forgotten.  And  these  are 
the  follies  of  eighteen  !  " 

"Yes,  and  you  left  me  without  a  sou  in  the  locanda  at 
Venice,"  said  Mistigris.  "I  made  my  way  from  Venice  to 
Rome,  to  see  if  I  could  find  you,  by  daubing  portraits  at  five 
francs  a  head,  and  never  got  paid;  but  it  was  a  jolly  time! 
Happiness,  they  say,  does  not  dwell  under  gilt  hoofs." 

"You  may  imagine  the  reflections  that  choked  me  with 
bile  in  a  Dalmatian  prison,  thrown  there  without  a  protector, 
having  to  answer  to  the  Dalmatian  Austrians,  and  threatened 
with  the  loss  of  my  head  for  having  twice  taken  a  walk  with  a 
woman  who  insisted  on  being  followed  by  her  housekeeper. 
That  is  what  I  call  bad  luck  !  "  cried  Schinner. 

"  What,"  said  Oscar  guilelessly,  "did  that  happen  to  you?  " 

"  Why  not  to  this  gentleman,  since  it  had  already  happened 
during  the  French  occupation  of  Illyria  to  one  of  our  most 
distinguished  artillery  officers?"  said  the  count  with  meaning. 

"And  did  you  believe  the  artillery  man?"  asked  Mistigris 
slily. 

"And  is  that  all?  "  asked  Oscar. 

"Well,"  said  Mistigris,  "he  cannot  tell  you  that  he  had 
his  head  cut  off.  Those  who  live  last  live  longest." 

"And  are  there  any  farms  out  there?"  asked  old  Leger. 
"What  do  they  grow  there?" 

"There  is  the  maraschino  crop,"  said  Mistigris.  "A  plant 
that  grows  just  as  high  as  your  lips  and  yields  the  liqueur  of 
that  name." 

"Ah!  "  said  Leger. 

"  I  was  only  three  days  in  the  town  and  a  fortnight  in 
prison,"  replied  Schinner.  "I  saw  nothing,  not  even  the 
fields  where  they  grow  the  maraschino." 

"They  are  making  game  of  you,"  said  Georges  to  the 
farmer.  "Maraschino  grows  in  cases." 

"Romances  alter  cases,"  remarked  Mistigris. 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  281 

Pierrotin's  chaise  was  now  on  the  way  down  one  of  the 
steep  sides  of  the  valley  of  Saint-Brice,  toward  the  inn  in  the 
middle  of  that  large  village,  where  he  was  to  wait  an  hour  to 
let  his  horses  take  breath,  eat  their  oats,  and  get  a  drink.  It 
was  now  about  half-past  one. 

"  Halloo  !  It  is  Farmer  Leger  ! ' '  cried  the  innkeeper,  as  the 
vehicle  drew  up  at  his  door.  "  Do  you  take  breakfast  ?  " 

"  Once  every  day,"  replied  the  burly  customer.  "  We  can 
eat  a  snack." 

"Order  breakfast  for  us,"  said  Georges,  carrying  his  cane 
as  if  he  were  shouldering  a  musket,  in  a  cavalier  style  that 
bewitched  Oscar. 

Oscar  felt  a  pang  of  frenzy  when  he  saw  this  reckless  ad- 
venturer take  a  fancy  straw  cigar-case  out  of  his  side-pocket, 
and  from  it  a  beautiful  tan-colored  cigar,  which  he  smoked  in 
the  doorway  while  waiting  for  the  meal. 

"  Do  you  smoke?  "  said  Georges  to  Oscar. 

"  Sometimes,"  said  the  schoolboy,  puffing  out  his  little 
chest  and  assuming  a  dashing  style. 

Georges  held  out  the  open  cigar-case  to  Oscar  and  to  Schin- 
ner. 

"  The  devil !  "  said  the  great  painter.     "  Ten-sous  cigars !  " 

"The  remains  of  what  I  brought  from  Spain,"  said  the  ad- 
venturer. "Are  you  going  to  have  breakfast?  " 

"No,"  said  the  artist.  "They  will  wait  for  me  at  the 
castle.  Beside,  I  had  some  food  before  starting." 

"And  you?"  said  Georges  to  Oscar. 

"I  have  had  breakfast,"  said  Oscar. 

Oscar  would  have  given  ten  years  of  his  life  to  have  boots 
and  trouser-straps.  He  stood  sneezing,  and  choking,  and 
spitting,  and  sucking  up  the  smoke  with  ill-disguised  grimaces. 

"  You  don't  know  how  to  smoke,"  said  Schinner.  "  Look 
here,"  and  Schinner,  without  moving  a  muscle,  drew  in  the 
smoke  of  his  cigar  and  blew  it  out  through  his  nose  without 
the  slightest  effort.  Then  again  he  kept  the  smoke  in  his 


282  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

throat,  took  the  cigar  out  of  his  mouth,  and  exhaled  it  grace- 
fully. 

"There,  young  man,"  said  the  painter. 

"And  this,  young  man,  is  another  way,  watch  this,"  said 
Georges,  imitating  Schinner,  but  swallowing  the  smoke  so 
that  none  returned. 

"And  my  parents  fancy  that  I  am  educated,"  thought  poor 
Oscar,  trying  to  smoke  with  a  grace.  But  he  felt  so  mortally 
sick  that  he  allowed  Mistigris  to  bone  his  cigar  and  to  say,  as 
he  puffed  at  it  with  conspicuous  satisfaction — 

"  I  suppose  you  have  nothing  catching." 

But  Oscar  wished  he  were  only  strong  enough  to  hit 
Mistigris. 

"Why,"  said  he,  pointing  to  Colonel  Georges,  "eight 
francs  for  Alicante  and  cheese-cakes,  forty  sous  in  cigars,  and 
his'breakfast,  which  will  cost " 

"  Ten  francs  at  least,"  said  Mistigris.  "  But  so  it  is,  little 
dishes  make  long  bills." 

"Well,  Pere  Leger,  we  can  crack  a  bottle  of  Bordeaux 
apiece?"  said  Georges  to  the  farmer. 

"His  breakfast  will  cost  him  twenty  francs,"  cried  Oscar. 
"  Why,  that  comes  to  more  than  thirty  francs  !  " 

Crushed  by  the  sense  of  his  inferiority,  Oscar  sat  down  on 
the  curbstone  lost  in  a  reverie,  which  hindered  his  observ- 
ing that  his  trousers,  hitched  up  as  he  sat,  showed  the  line 
of  union  between  an  old  stocking-leg  and  a  new  foot  to  it,  a 
masterpiece  of  his  mother's  skill. 

"Our  understandings  are  twins,  if  not  our  soles,"  said 
Mistigris,  pulling  one  leg  of  his  trousers  a  little  way  up  to 
show  a  similiar  effect.  "  But  a  baker's  children  are  always 
worst  bread." 

The  jest  made  Monsieur  de  Serizy  smile  as  he  stood  with 
folded  arms  under  the  gateway  behind  the  two  lads.  Heedless 
as  they  were,  the  solemn  statesman  envied  them  their  faults; 
he  liked  their  bounce,  and  admired  the  quickness  of  their  fun. 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  283 

"  Well,  can  you  get  les  Moulineaux  ?  for  you  went  to  Paris 
to  fetch  the  money,"  said  the  innkeeper  to  old  Leger,  having 
just  shown  him  a  nag  for  sale  in  his  stables.  "  It  will  be  a 
fine  joke  to  screw  a  bit  out  of  the  Comte  de  Serizy,  a  peer  of 
France  and  a  State  Minister." 

The  wily  old  courtier  betrayed  nothing  in  his  face,  but  he 
looked  round  to  watch  the  farmer. 

"  His  goose  is  cooked  !  "  replied  Leger  in  a  low  voice. 

"  So  much  the  better  ;  I  love  to  see  your  bigwigs  done. 
And  if  you  want  a  score  or  so  thousand  francs,  I  will  lend 
you  the  money.  But  Francois,  the  driver  of  Touchards'  six- 
o'clock  coach,  told  me  as  he  went  through  that  Monsieur 
Margueron  is  invited  to  dine  with  the  Comte  de  Serizy  him- 
self to-day  at  Presles." 

"  That  is  his  excellency's  plan,  but  we  have  our  little 
notions  too,"  replied  the  farmer. 

"  Ah,  but  the  count  will  find  a  place  for  Monsieur  Mar- 
gueron's  son,  and  you  have  no  places  to  give  away,"  said  the 
innkeeper. 

"  No ;  but  if  the  count  has  the  Ministers  on  his  side,  I 
have  King  Louis  XVIII.  on  mine,"  said  Leger  in  the  inn- 
keeper's ear,  "  and  forty  thousand  of  his  effigies  handed  over 
to  Master  Moreau  will  enable  me  to  buy  les  Moulineaux  for 
two  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  francs  before  Monsieur  de 
Serizy  can  step  in,  and  he  will  be  glad  enough  to  take  it  off 
my  hands  for  three  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  rather  than 
have  the  lands  valued  lot  by  lot." 

"  Not  a  bad  turn,  master,"  said  his  friend. 

"  How  is  that  for  a  stroke  of  business  ?  "  said  the  farmer. 

"And,  after  all,  the  farm  lands  are  worth  it  to  him,"  said 
the  innkeeper. 

"  Les  Moulineaux  pays  six  thousand  francs  a  year  in  kind, 
and  I  mean  to  renew  the  lease  at  seven  thousand  five  hundred 
for  eighteen  years.  So  as  he  invests  at  more  than  two  and  a 
half  per  cent.,  Monsieur  le  Comte  won't  be  robbed. 


284  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

"  Not  to  commit  Monsieur  Moreau,  I  am  to  be  proposed 
to  the  count  by  him  as  a  tenant ;  he  will  seem  to  be  taking 
care  of  his  master's  interests  by  finding  him  nearly  three  per 
cent,  for  his  money  and  a  farmer  who  will  pay  regularly " 

"  And  what  will  Moreau  get  out  of  the  job  altogether  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  the  count  makes  him  a  present  of  ten  thousand 
francs,  he  will  clear  fifty  thousand  on  the  transaction  ;  but  he 
will  have  earned  them  fairly." 

"And,  after  all,  what  does  the  count  care  for  Presles?  He 
is  so  rich,"  said  the  innkeeper.  "I  have  never  set  eyes  on 
him  myself." 

"  Nor  I  neither,"  said  the  farmer.  "  But  he  is  coming  at 
last  to  live  there  ;  he  would  not  otherwise  be  laying  out  two 
hundred  thousand  francs  on  redecorating  the  rooms.  It  is  as 
fine  as  the  King's  palace." 

"Well,  then,"  replied  the  other,  "it  is  high  time  that 
Moreau  should  feather  his  nest." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  for  when  once  the  master  and  mis'ess  are  on 
the  spot,  they  will  not  keep  their  eyes  in  their  pockets." 

Though  the  conversation  was  carried  on  in  a  low  tone,  the 
count  had  kept  his  ears  open. 

"  Here  I  have  all  the  evidence  I  was  going  in  search  of," 
thought  he,  looking  at  the  burly  farmer  as  he  went  back  into 
the  kitchen.  "  But  perhaps  it  is  no  more  than  a  scheme  as 

yet.  Perhaps  Moreau  has  not  closed  with  the  offer !  " 

So  averse  was  he  to  believe  that  the  land  steward  was  capable 
of  mixing  himself  up  in  such  a  plot. 

Pierrotin  now  came  out  to  give  his  horses  water.  The 
count  supposed  that  the  driver  would  breakfast  with  the  inn- 
keeper and  Leger,  and  what  he  had  overheard  made  him  fear 
the  least  betrayal. 

"The  whole  posse  are  in  league,"  thought  he;  "it  serves 
them  right  to  thwart  their  scheming.  Pierrotin,"  said  he  in 
a  low  voice  as  he  went  up  to  the  driver,  "  I  promised  you  ten 
louis  to  keep  my  secret ;  but  if  you  will  take  care  not  to  let 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  285 

out  my  name — and  I  shall  know  whether  you  have  mentioned 
it,  or  given  the  least  clue  to  it,  to  any  living  soul,  even  at 
I'lsle-Adam — to-morrow  morning,  as  you  pass  the  castle,  I 
will  give  you  the  thousand  francs  to  pay  for  your  new  coach. 
And  for  greater  safety,"  added  he,  slapping  Pierrotin's  back, 
"  do  without  your  breakfast ;  stay  outside  with  your  horses." 

Pierrotin  had  turned  pale  with  joy. 

"  I  understand,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  trust  me.  It  is  old 
Pere  Leger " 

"  It  concerns  every  living  soul,"  replied  the  count. 

"  Be  easy.  Come,  hurry  up,"  said  Pierrotin,  half  opening 
the  kitchen  door,  "  we  are  late  already.  Listen,  Pere  Leger, 
there  is  the  hill  before  us,  you  know ;  I  am  not  hungry ;  I 
will  go  on  slowly,  and  you  will  easily  catch  me  up.  A  walk 
will  do  you  good." 

"  The  man  is  in  a  devil  of  a  hurry  !  "  said  the  innkeeper. 
"Won't  you  come  and  join  us?  The  colonel  is  standing 
wine  at  fifty  sous,  and  a  bottle  of  champagne." 

"  No,  I  can't.  I  have  a  fish  on  board  to  be  delivered  at 
Stors  by  three  o'clock  for  a  big  dinner ;  and  such  customers 
don't  see  a  joke  any  more  than  the  fish." 

"All  right,"  said  Leger  to  the  innkeeper  ;  "  put  the  horse 
you  want  me  to  buy  in  the  shafts  of  your  gig,  and  you  can 
drive  us  on  to  pick  up  Pierrotin.  Then  we  can  breakfast  in 
peace,  and  I  shall  see  what  the  nag  can  do.  Three  of  us  can 
very  well  ride  in  your  old  jolter." 

To  the  count's  great  satisfaction,  Pierrotin  himself  brought 
out  his  horses.  Schinner  and  Mistigris  had  walked  forward. 

Pierrotin  picked  up  the  two  artists  half-way  between  Saint- 
Brice  and  Poncelles ;  and  just  as  he  reached  the  top  of  the  hill, 
whence  they  had  a  view  of  Ecouen,  the  belfry  of  le  Mesnil, 
and  the  woods  which  encircle  that  beautiful  landscape,  the 
sound  of  a  galloping  horse  drawing  a  gig  that  rattled  and 
jingled  announced  the  pursuit  of  Pere  Leger  and  Mina's 
colonel,  who  settled  themselves  into  the  chaise  again. 


286  A    START  IN  LIFE. 

As  Pierrotin  zigzagged  down  the  hill  into  Moisselles, 
Georges,  who  had  never  ceased  expatiating  to  old  Leger  on 
the  beauty  of  the  innkeeper's  wife  at  Saint-Brice,  exclaimed — 

"  I  say,  this  is  not  amiss  by  way  of  landscape,  Great 
Painter?" 

"  It  ought  not  to  astonish  you,  who  have  seen  Spain  and 
the  East." 

"And  I  have  two  of  the  Spanish  cigars  left.  If  nobody 
objects,  will  you  help  me  finish  them  off,  Schinner?  The 
little  man  had  enough  with  a  mouthful  or  two." 

Old  Leger  and  the  count  kept  silence,  which  was  taken  for 
consent. 

Oscar,  annoyed  at  being  spoken  of  as  "a  little  man,"  re- 
torted while  the  others  were  lighting  their  cigars — 

"Though  I  have  not  been  Mina's  aide-de-camp,  monsieur, 
and  have  not  been  in  the  East,  I  may  go  there  yet.  The 
career  for  which  my  parents  intend  me  will,  I  hope,  relieve 
me  of  the  necessity  of  riding  in  a  public  chaise  when  I  am  as 
old  as  you  are.  When  once  I  am  a  person  of  importance,  and 
get  a  place,  I  will  stay  in  it " 

"And  the  rest,  certainly!"  said  Mistigris,  imitating  the 
sort  of  hoarse  crow  which  made  Oscar's  speech  even  more 
ridiculous ;  for  the  poor  boy  was  at  the  age  when  the  beard 
begins  to  grow  and  the  voice  to  break.  "After  all,"  added 
Mistigris,  "extremes  bleat." 

"  My  word,"  said  Schinner,  "  the  horses  can  scarcely  draw 
such  a  weight  of  dignity." 

"So  your  parents  intend  to  start  you  in  a  career,"  said 
Georges  very  seriously.  "And  what  may  it  be?" 

"In  diplomacy,"  said  Oscar. 

Three  shouts  of  laughter  went  forth  like  three  rockets  from 
Mistigris,  Schinner,  and  the  old  farmer.  Even  the  count 
could  not  help  smiling.  Georges  kept  his  countenance. 

"By  Allah!  But  there  is  nothing  to  laugh  at,"  said  the 
colonel.  "  Only,  young  man,"  he  went  on,  addressing  Oscar, 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  287 

"  it  struck  me  that  your  respectable  mother  is  not  for  the  mo- 
ment in  a  social  position  wholly  beseeming  an  ambassadress. 
She  had  a  most  venerable  straw  bag,  and  a  patch  on  her 
shoe." 

"  My  mother,  monsieur  !  "  said  Oscar,  fuming  with  indigna- 
tion. "  It  was  our  housekeeper." 

"  'Our '  is  most  aristocratic  !  "  cried  the  count,  interrupting 
Oscar. 

"  The  king  says  our,"  replied  Oscar  haughtily. 

A  look  from  Georges  checked  a  general  burst  of  laughter ; 
it  conveyed  to  the  painter  and  to  Mistigris  the  desirability  of 
dealing  judiciously  with  Oscar,  so  as  to  make  the  most  of  this 
mine  of  amusement. 

"The  gentleman  is  right,"  said  the  painter  to  the  count, 
designating  Oscar.  "Gentlefolk  talk  of  our  house;  only 
second-rate  people  talk  of  my  house.  Everybody  has  a  mania 
for  seeming  to  have  what  he  has  not.  For  a  man  loaded  with 
decorations ' ' 

"  Then,  monsieur  also  is  a  decorator?"  asked  Mistigris. 

"  You  know  nothing  of  court  language.  I  beg  the  favor  of 
your  protection,  your  excellency,"  added  Schinner,  turning 
to  Oscar. 

"I  must  congratulate  myself,"  said  the  count,  "on  having 
traveled  with  three  men  who  are  or  will  be  famous — a  painter 
who  is  already  illustrious,  a  future  general,  and  a  young  diplo- 
matist who  will  some  day  reunite  Belgium  to  France." 

But  Oscar,  having  so  basely  denied  his  mother,  and  furious 
at  perceiving  that  his  companions  were  making  game  of  him, 
determined  to  convince  their  incredulity  at  any  cost. 

"All  is  not  gold  that  glitters !  "  said  he,  flashing  lightnings 
from  his  eyes. 

"You've  got  it  wrong,"  cried  Mistigris.  "All  is  not  old 
that  titters.  You  will  not  go  far  in  diplomacy  if  you  do  not 
know  your  proverbs  better  than  that." 

"  If  I  do  not  know  my  proverbs,  I  know  my  way." 


288  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

"It  must  be  leading  you  a  long  way,"  said  Georges,  "  for 
your  family  housekeeper  gave  you  provisions  enough  for  a  sea 
voyage — biscuits,  chocolate " 

"A  particular  roll  and  some  chocolate,  yes,  monsieur,"  re- 
turned Oscar.  "  My  stomach  is  much  too  delicate  to  digest 
the  cagmag  you  get  at  an  inn." 

"'Cagmag'  is  as  delicate  as  your  digestion,"  retorted 
Georges. 

"  '  Cagmag '  is  good  !  "  said  the  great  painter. 

"The  word  is  in  use  in  the  best  circles,"  said  Mistigris; 
"  I  use  it  myself  at  the  coffee-house  of  the  Poule  Noire  "  (black 
hen). 

"  Your  tutor  was,  no  doubt,  some  famous  professor — Mon- 
sieur Andrieux  of  the  Academy  or  Monsieur  Royer-Collard  ?  " 
asked  Schinner. 

"  My  tutor  was  the  Abbe  Loraux,  now  the  Vicar  of  St.  Sul- 
pice,"  replied  Oscar,  remembering  the  name  of  the  confessor 
of  the  school. 

"You  did  very  wisely  to  have  a  private  tutor,"  said  Misti- 
gris, "  for  the  fountain — of  learning — brought  forth  a  mouse  ; 
and  you  will  do  something  for  your  abbe,  of  course? " 

"  Certainly ;  he  will  be  a  bishop  some  day." 

"And  through  your  family  interest?"  asked  Georges  quite 
gravely. 

"  We  may  perhaps  contribute  to  his  due  promotion,  for  the 
Abbe  Frayssinous  often  comes  to  our  house." 

"Oh,  do  you  know  the  Abbe  Frayssinous?"  asked  the 
count. 

"  He  is  under  obligations  to  my  father,"  repli-ed  the  furious 
Oscar. 

"  And  you  are  on  your  way  to  your  estate,  no  doubt  ?  "  said 
Georges. 

"  No,  monsieur ;  but  I  have  no  objection  to  saying  where  I 
am  going.  I  am  on  my  way  to  the  mansion  of  Presles,  the 
Comte  de  Serizy's." 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  289 

"  The  devil  you  are  !  To  Presles?  "  cried  Schinner,  turn- 
ing crimson. 

"Then  do  you  know  Monseigneur  the  Comte  de  Serizy?" 
asked  Georges. 

Farmer  Leger  turned  so  as  to  look  at  Oscar  with  a  be- 
wildered gaze,  exclaiming — 

"And  Monsieur  le  Comte  is  at  Presles?" 

"  So  it  would  seem,  as  I  am  going  there,"  replied  Oscar. 

"Then  you  have  often  seen  the  count?"  asked  Monsieur 
de  Serizy. 

"  As  plainly  as  I  see  you.  I  am  great  friends  with  his  son, 
who  is  about  my  age,  nineteen ;  and  we  ride  together  almost 
every  day." 

"Kings  have  been  known  to  harry  beggar-maids,"  said 
Mistigris  sapiently. 

A  wink  from  Pierrotin  had  relieved  the  farmer's  alarm. 

"  On  my  honor,"  said  the  count  to  Oscar,  "  I  am  delighted 
to  find  myself  in  the  company  of  a  young  gentleman  who  can 
speak  with  authority  of  that  nobleman.  I  am  anxious  to  secure 
his  favor  in  a  somewhat  important  business  in  which  his  help 
will  cost  him  nothing.  It  is  a  little  claim  against  the  American 
Government.  I  should  be  glad  to  learn  something  as  to  the 
sort  of  man  he  is." 

"Oh,  if  you  hope  to  succeed,"  replied  Oscar,  with  an  as- 
sumption of  competence,  "do  not  apply  to  him,  but  to  his 
wife ;  he  is  madly  in  love  with  her,  no  one  knows  that  better 
than  I,  and  his  wife  cannot  endure  him." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Georges. 

"  The  count  has  some  skin  disease  that  makes  him  hideous, 
and  Doctor  Alibert  has  tried  in  vain  to  cure  it.  Monsieur  de 
Serizy  would  give  half  of  his  immense  fortune  to  have  a  chest 
like  mine,"  said  Oscar,  opening  his  shirt  and  showing  a  clean 
pink  skin  like  a  child's.  "He  lives  alone,  secluded  in  his 
house.  You  need  a  good  introduction  to  see  him  at  all.  In 
the  first  place,  he  gets  up  very  early  in  the  morning,  and  works 
19 


290  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

from  three  till  eight,  after  eight  he  follows  various  treatments, 
sulphur  baths  or  vapor  baths.  They  stew  him  in  a  sort  of 
iron  tank,  for  he  is  always  hoping  to  be  cured." 

"  If  he  is  so  intimate  with  the  King,  why  is  he  not '  touched ' 
by  him?"  asked  Georges. 

"Then  the  lady  keeps  her  husband  in  hot  water,"  said 
Mistigris. 

"The  count  has  promised  thirty  thousand  francs  to  a 
famous  Scotch  physician  who  is  prescribing  for  him  now," 
Oscar  went  on. 

"  Then  his  wife  can  hardly  be  blamed  for  giving  herself  the 
best "  Schinner  began,  but  he  did  not  finish  his  sentence. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Oscar.  "  The  poor  man  is  so  shriveled, 
so  decrepit,  you  would  think  he  was  eighty.  He  is  as  dry 
as  parchment,  and,  to  add  to  his  misfortune,  he  feels  his 
position " 

"And  feels  it  hot,  I  should  think,"  remarked  the  farmer 
facetiously. 

"  Monsieur,  he  worships  his  wife,  and  dares  not  blame 
her,"  replied  Oscar.  "He  performs  the  most  ridiculous 
scenes  with  her,  you  would  die  of  laughing — exactly  like 
Arnolphe  in  Moliere's  play." 

The  count,  in  blank  dismay,  looked  at  Pierrotin,  who,  see- 
ing him  apparently  unmoved,  concluded  that  Madame  Cla- 
part's  son  was  inventing  a  pack  of  slander. 

"So,  monsieur,  if  you  wish  to  succeed,"  said  Oscar  to  the 
count,  "apply  to  the  Marquis  d'Aiglemont.  If  you  have 
madame's  former  adorer  on  your  side,  you  will  at  one  stroke 
secure  both  the  lady  and  her  husband." 

"That  is  what  we  call  killing  two-thirds  with  one  bone," 
said  Mistigris. 

"  Dear  me !  "  said  the  painter,  "  have  you  seen  the  count 
undressed?  Are  you  his  valet?" 

"  His  valet !  "  cried  Oscar. 

*'By  the  mass !     A  man  does  not  say  such  things  about  his 


A  START  IN  LIFE.  291 

friends  in  a  public  conveyance,"  added  Mistigris.  "Discre- 
tion, my  young  friend,  is  the  mother  of  inattention.  I  simply 
don't  hear  you." 

"It  is  certainly  a  case  of  tell  me  whom  you  know,  and  I 
will  tell  you  whom  you  hate,"  exclaimed  Schinner. 

"But  you  must  learn,  Great  Painter,"  said  Georges  pom- 
pously, "  that  no  man  can  speak  ill  of  those  he  does  not 
know.  The  boy  has  proved  at  any  rate  that  he  knows  his 
Serizy  by  heart.  Now,  if  he  had  only  talked  of  madame,  it 
might  have  been  supposed  that  he  was  on  terms — 

"  Not  another  word  about  the  Comtesse  de  Serizy,  young 
men  !  "  cried  the  count.  "  Her  brother,  the  Marquis  de 
Ronquerolles,  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  the  man  who  is  so  rash 
as  to  cast  a  doubt  on  the  countess'  honor  will  answer  to  me 
for  his  speech." 

"Monsieur  is  right,"  said  the  artist,  "there  should  be  no 
scandal  spoken  about  women." 

"God,  Honor,  and  the  Ladies!  I  saw  a  melodrama  of 
that  name,"  said  Mistigris. 

"Though  I  do  not  know  Mina,  I  know  the  keeper  of  the 
seals,"  said  the  count,  looking  at  Georges.  "And  though  I 
do  not  display  my  orders,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  painter, 
"  I  can  hinder  their  being  given  to  those  who  do  not  deserve 
them.  In  short,  I  know  so  many  people,  that  I  know  Mon- 
sieur Grindot,  the  architect  of  Presles.  Stop  at  the  next  inn, 
Pierrotin ;  I  am  going  to  get  out." 

Pierrotin  drove  on  to  the  village  of  Moisselles,  and  there, 
at  a  little  country  inn,  the  travelers  alighted.  This  bit  of 
road  was  passed  in  utter  silence. 

"Where  on  earth  is  that  little  rascal  going?"  asked  the 
count,  leading  Pierrotin  into  the  inn-yard. 

"To  stay  with  your  steward.  He  is  the  son  of  a  poor 
lady  who  lives  in  the  Rue  de  la  Cerisaie,  and  to  whom  I 
often  carry  fruit  and  game  and  poultry — a  certain  Madame 
Husson." 


292  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

"Who  is  that  gentleman?"  old  Leger  asked  Pierrotin 
when  the  count  had  turned  away. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Pierrotin.  "He  never  rode  with 
me  before ;  but  he  may  be  the  prince  who  owns  the  castle  of 
Maffliers.  He  has  just  told  me  where  to  set  him  down  on  the 
road;  he  is  not  going  so  far  as  1'Isle-Adam." 

"Pierrotin  fancies  he  is  the  owner  of  Maffliers,"  said  the 
farmer  to  Georges,  getting  back  into  the  chaise. 

At  this  stage  the  three  young  fellows,  looking  as  silly  as 
pilferers  caught  in  the  act,  did  not  dare  meet  each  other's  eye, 
and  seemed  lost  in  reflections  on  the  upshot  of  their  several 
fictions. 

"  That  is  what  I  call  a  great  lie  and  little  wool,"  observed 
Mistigris. 

"You  see,  I  know  the  count,"  said  Oscar. 

"Possibly,  but  you  will  never  be  an  ambassador,"  replied 
Georges.  "  If  you  must  talk  in  a  public  carriage,  learn  to 
talk  like  me  and  tell  nothing." 

"  The  mother  of  mischief  is  no  more  than  a  midge's  sting," 
said  Mistigris  conclusively. 

The  count  now  got  into  the  chaise,  and  Pierrotin  drove  on ; 
perfect  silence  reigned. 

"  Well,  my  good  friends,"  said  the  count,  as  they  reached 
the  wood  of  Carreau,  "  we  are  all  as  mute  as  if  we  were  going 
to  execution." 

"  Silence  gives  content.  A  man  should  know  that  silence 
is  a  bold  'un,"  said  Mistigris  with  an  air. 

"  It  is  a  fine  day,"  remarked  Georges. 

"What  place  is  that?  "  asked  Oscar,  pointing  to  the  castle 
of  Franconville,  which  shows  so  finely  on  the  slope  of  the 
great  forest  of  Saint-Martin. 

"  What !  "  said  the  count,  "  you  who  have  been  so  often  to 
Presles,  do  not  know  Franconville  when  you  see  it?" 

"Monsieur  knows  more  of  men  than  of  houses,"  said  Mis- 
tigris. 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  293 

"A  sucking  diplomatist  may  sometimes  be  oblivious,"  ex- 
claimed Georges. 

"Remember  my  name!"  cried  Oscar  in  a  fury,  "it  is 
Oscar  Husson,  and  in  ten  years'  time  I  shall  be  famous." 

After  this  speech,  pronounced  with  great  bravado,  Oscar 
huddled  himself  into  his  corner. 

"Husson  de — what?  "  asked  Mistigris. 

"A  great  family,"  replied  the  count.  "  The  Hussons  de  la 
Cerisaie.  The  gentleman  was  born  at  the  foot  of  the  Imperial 
throne." 

Oscar  blushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair  in  an  agony  of  alarm. 
They  were  about  to  descend  the  steep  hill  by  la  Cave,  at  the 
bottom  of  which,  in  a  narrow  valley,  on  the  skirt  of  the  forest 
of  Saint-Martin,  stands  the  splendid  castle  of  Presles. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Monsieur  de  Serizy,  "I  wish  you  well 
in  your  several  careers.  You,  Monsieur  le  Colonel,  make 
your  peace  with  the  King  of  France ;  the  Czerni-Georges 
must  be  on  good  terms  with  the  Bourbons.  I  have  no  fore- 
cast for  you,  my  dear  Monsieur  Schinner ;  your  fame  is  already 
made,  and  you  have  won  it  nobly  by  splendid  work.  But 
you  are  such  a  dangerous  man  that  I,  who  have  a  wife,  should 
not  dare  to  offer  you  a  commission  under  my  roof.  As  to 
Monsieur  Husson,  he  needs  no  interest ;  he  is  the  master  of 
statesmen's  secrets,  and  can  make  them  tremble.  Monsieur 
Leger  is  going  to  steal  a  march  on  the  Comte  de  Serizy ;  I 
only  hope  that  he  may  hold  his  own.  Put  me  down  here, 
Pierrotin,  and  you  can  take  me  up  at  the  same  spot  to-mor- 
row !  "  added  the  count,  who  got  out,  leaving  his  fellow- 
travelers  quite  confounded. 

"When  you  take  to  your  heels  you  can't  take  too  much," 
remarked  Mistigris,  seeing  how  nimbly  the  traveler  vanished 
in  a  sunken  path. 

"  Oh,  he  must  be  the  count  who  has  taken  Franconville ;  he 
is  going  that  way,"  said  Pere  Leger. 

"  If  ever  again  I  try  to  humbug  in  a  public  carriage  I  will 


294  .  A   START  IN  LIFE.. 

call  myself  out,"  said  the  false  Schinner.  "It  is  partly  your 
fault  too,  Mistigris,"  said  he,  giving  his  boy  a  rap  on  hi?  cap. 

"Oh,  ho  !  I — who  only  followed  you  to  Venice,"  replied 
Mistigris.  "  But  play  a  dog  a  bad  game  and  slang  him." 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Georges  to  Oscar,  "that  if  by  any 
chance  that  was  the  Comte  de  Serizy,  I  should  be  sorry  to 
find  myself  in  your  skin,  although  it  is  so  free  from  disease." 

Oscar,  reminded  by  these  words  of  his  mother's  advice, 
turned  pale,  and  was  quite  sobered. 

"Here  you  are,  gentlemen,"  said  Pierrotin,  pulling  up  at 
a  handsome  gate. 

"Are  where?"  exclaimed  the  painter,  Georges,  and  Oscar 
all  in  a  breath. 

"That's  a  stiff  one  !  "  cried  Pierrotin.  "  Do  you  mean  to 
say,  gentlemen,  that  neither  of  you  has  ever  been  here  before  ? 
There  stands  the  castle  of  Presles !  " 

"All  right,"  said  Georges,  recovering  himself.  "I  am 
going  on  to  the  farm  of  les  Moulineaux,"  he  added,  not  choos- 
ing to  tell  his  fellow-travelers  that  he  was  bound  for  the 
house. 

"Then  you  are  coming  with  me,"  said  Leger. 

"  How  is  that  ?  " 

"  I  am  the  farmer  at  les  Moulineaux.  And  what  do  you 
want  of  me,  colonel  ?  " 

"A  taste  of  your  butter,"  said  Georges,  pulling  out  his 
portfolio. 

"Pierrotin,  drop  my  things  at  the  steward's,"  said  Oscar; 
"  I  am  going  straight  to  the  house."  And  he  plunged  into  a 
cross-path  without  knowing  whither  it  led. 

"Halloo!  Mr.  Ambassador,"  cried  Pierrotin,  "you  are 
going  into  the  forest.  If  you  want  to  get  to  the  castle,  go  in 
by  the  side-gate." 

Thus  compelled  to  go  in,  Oscar  made  his  way  into  the 
spacious  courtyard  with  a  huge  stone-edged  flower-bed  in  the 
middle,  and  stone  posts  all  round  with  chains  between.  While 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  295 

Pere  Leger  stood  watching  Oscar,  Georges,  thunderstruck  at 
hearing  the  burly  farmer  describe  himself  as  the  owner  of  les 
Moulineaux,  vanished  so  nimbly  that,  when  the  fat  man 
looked  round  for  his  colonel,  he  could  not  find  him. 

At  Pierrotin's  request  the  gate  was  opened,  and  he  went  in 
with  much  dignity  to  deposit  the  Great  Schinner's  multi- 
farious properties  at  the  lodge.  Oscar  was  in  dismay  at 
seeing  Mistigris  and  the  artist,  the  witnesses  of  his  brag,  really 
admitted  to  the  castle. 

In  ten  minutes  Pierrotin  had  unloaded  the  chaise  of  the 
painter's  paraphernalia,  Oscar  Husson's  luggage,  and  the  neat 
leather  portmanteau,  which  he  mysteriously  confided  to  the 
lodge-keeper.  Then  he  turned  his  machine,  cracking  his  whip 
energetically,  and  went  on  his  way  to  the  woods  of  1'Isle 
Adam,  his  face  still  wearing  the  artful  expression  of  a  peasant 
summing  up  his  profits. 

Nothing  was  wanting  to  his  satisfaction.  On  the  morrow 
he  would  have  his  thousand  francs. 

Oscar,  with  his  tail  between  his  legs,  so  to  speak,  wandered 
round  the  great  court,  waiting  to  see  what  would  become  of 
his  traveling  companions,  when  he  presently  saw  Monsieur 
Moreau  come  out  of  the  large  entrance-hall  known  as  the 
guardroom,  on  to  the  front  steps.  The  land  steward,  who 
wore  a  long,  blue  riding-coat  cut  down  to  his  heels,  had  on 
nankin-colored  breeches  and  hunting-boots,  and  carried  a  crop 
in  his  hand. 

"Well,  my  boy,  so  here  you  are?  And  how  is  the  dear 
mother?"  said  he,  shaking  hands  with  Oscar.  "Good- 
morning,  gentlemen;  you,  no  doubt,  are  the  painters  prom- 
ised us  by  Monsieur  Grindot,  the  architect?"  said  he  to 
the  artists. 

He  whistled  twice,  using  the  end  of  his  riding-whip,  and 
the  lodge-keeper  came  forward. 

"Take  these  gentlemen  to  their  rooms — Nos.  14  and  15; 
Madame  Moreau  will  give  you  the  keys.  Light  fires  this 


296  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

evening,  if  necessary,  and  carry  up  their  things.  I  am  in- 
structed by  Monsieur  le  Comte  to  ask  you  to  dine  with  me," 
he  added,  addressing  the  artists.  "At  five,  as  in  Paris.  If 
you  are  sportsmen,  you  can  be  well  amused.  I  have  permis- 
sion to  shoot  and  fish,  and  we  have  twelve  thousand  acres  of 
shooting  outside  our  own  grounds." 

Oscar,  the  painter,  and  Mistigris,  one  as  much  disconcerted 
as  the  other,  exchanged  glances.  Still,  Mistigris,  faithful  to 
his  instincts,  exclaimed — 

"  Pooh,  never  throw  the  candle  after  the  shade  !*  On 
we  go !  " 

Little  Husson  followed  the  steward,  who  led  the  way,  walk- 
ing quickly  across  the  park. 

"Jacques,"  said  he  to  one  of  his  sons,  "go  and  tell  your 
mother  that  young  Husson  has  arrived,  and  say  that  I  am 
obliged  to  go  over  to  les  Moulineaux  for  a  few  minutes." 

Moreau,  now  about  fifty  years  of  age,  a  dark  man  of  medium 
height,  had  a  stern  expression.  His  bilious  complexion, 
highly  colored  nevertheless  by  a  country  life,  suggested,  at 
first  sight,  a  character  very  unlike  what  his  really  was.  Every- 
thing contributed  to  the  illusion.  His  hair  was  turning  gray, 
his  blue  eyes  and  a  large  aquiline  nose  gave  him  a  sinister  ex- 
pression, all  the  more  so  because  his  eyes  were  too  close  to- 
gether ;  still,  his  full  lips,  the  shape  of  his  face,  and  the  good- 
humor  of  his  address,  would,  to  a  keen  observer,  have  been 
indications  of  kindliness.  His  very  decided  manner  and 
abrupt  way  of  speech  impressed  Oscar  immensely  with  a  sense 
of  his  penetration,  arising  from  his  real  affection  for  the  boy. 
Brought  up  by  his  mother  to  look  up  to  the  steward  as  a  great 
man,  Oscar  always  felt  small  in  Moreau's  presence;  and  now, 
finding  himself  at  Presles,  he  felt  an  oppressive  uneasiness,  as 
if  he  had  some  ill  to  fear  from  this  fatherly  friend,  who  was  his 
only  protector. 

"  Why,  my  dear  Oscar,  you  do  not  look  glad  to  be  here," 
*  In  original :  Veni,  vidi  cecidi. 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  297 

said  the  steward.  "  But  you  will  have  plenty  to  amuse  you; 
you  can  learn  to  ride,  to  shoot,  and  hunt." 

"I  know  nothing  of  such  things,"  said  Oscar  dully. 

"But  I  have  asked  you  here  on  purpose  to  teach  you." 

"  Mamma  told  me  not  to  stay  more  than  a  fortnight,  because 
Madame  Moreau " 

"  Oh,  well,  we  shall  see,"  replied  Moreau,  almost  offended 
by  Oscar's  doubts  of  his  conjugal  influence. 

Moreau's  youngest  son,  a  lad  of  fifteen,  active  and  brisk, 
now  came  running  up. 

"Here,"  said  his  father,  "  take  your  new  companion  to 
your  mother." 

And  the  steward  himself  went  off  by  the  shortest  path  to  a 
keeper's  hut  between  the  park  and  the  wood. 

The  handsome  lodge,  given  by  the  count  as  his  land  stew- 
ard's residence,  had  been  built  some  years  before  the  Revolu- 
tion, by  the  owner  of  the  famous  estate  of  Cassan  or  Bergeret, 
a  farmer-general  of  enormous  wealth,  who  made  himself  as 
notorious  for  extravagance  as  Bodard,  Paris,  and  Bouret,  laying 
out  gardens,  diverting  rivers,  building  hermitages,  Chinese 
temples,  and  other  costly  magnificence. 

This  house,  in  the  middle  of  a  large  garden,  of  which  one 
wall  divided  it  from  the  outbuildings  of  Presles,  had  formerly 
had  its  entrance  on  the  village  High  Street.  Monsieur  de 
Serizy's  father,  when  he  purchased  the  property,  had  only  to 
pull  down  the  dividing  wall  and  build  up  the  front  gate  to 
make  this  plot  and  house  part  of  the  outbuildings.  Then,  by 
pulling  down  another  wall,  he  added  to  his  park  all  the  garden 
land  that  the  former  owner  had  purchased  to  complete  his 
ring-fence. 

The  lodge,  built  of  freestone,  was  in  the  Louis  XV.  style, 
with  linen-pattern  panels  under  the  windows,  like  those  on 
the  colonnades  of  the  Place  Louis  XV.,  in  stiff,  angular  folds  j 
it  consisted,  on  the  first  floor,  of  a  fine  drawing-room  opening 
into  a  bedroom,  and  of  a  dining-room,  with  a  billiard-room 


298  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

adjoining.  These  two  suites,  parallel  to  each  other,  were 
divided  by  a  sort  of  anteroom  or  hall,  and  the  stairs.  The 
hall  was  decorated  by  the  doors  of  the  drawing-room  and 
dining-room,  both  handsomely  ornamental.  T,he  kitchen  was 
under  the  dining-room,  for  there  was  a  flight  of  ten  outside 
steps. 

Madame  Moreau  had  taken  the  second  floor  for  her  own, 
and  had  transformed  what  had  been  the  best  bedroom  into  a 
boudoir ;  this  boudoir,  and  the  drawing-room  below,  hand- 
somely fitted  up  with  the  best  pickings  of  the  old  furniture 
from  the  castle,  would  certainly  have  done  no  discredit  to  the 
mansion  of  a  lady  of  fashion.  The  drawing-room,  hung  with 
blue-and-white  damask,  the  spoils  of  a  state  bed,  and  with 
old  gilded-wood  furniture  upholstered  with  the  same  silk,  dis- 
played ample  curtains  to  the  doors  and  windows.  Some  pic- 
tures that  had  formerly  been  panels,  with  flower-stands,  a  few 
modern  tables,  and  handsome  lamps,  beside  an  antique  hang- 
ing chandelier  of  cut-glass,  gave  the  room  a  very  dignified 
effect.  The  carpet  was  old  Persian. 

The  boudoir  was  altogether  modern  and  fitted  to  Madame 
Moreau's  taste,  in  imitation  of  a  tent,  with  blue  silk  ropes  on 
a  light  gray  ground.  There  was  the  usual  divan  with  pillows 
and  cushions  for  the  feet,  and  the  flower-stands,  carefully 
cherished  by  the  head-gardener,  were  a  joy  to  the  eye  with 
their  pyramids  of  flowers. 

The  dining-room  and  billiard-room  were  fitted  with  ma- 
hogany. All  round  the  house  the  steward's  lady  had  planned 
a  flower-garden,  beautifully  kept,  and  beyond  it  lay  the  park. 
Clumps  of  foreign  shrubs  shut  out  the  stables,  and  to  give 
admission  from  the  road  to  her  visitors  she  had  opened  a  gate 
where  the  old  entrance  had  been  built  up. 

Thus,  the  dependent  position  filled  by  the  Moreaus  was 
cleverly  glossed  over  ;  and  they  were  the  better  able  to  figure 
as  rich  folk  managing  a  friend's  estate  for  their  pleasure,  be- 
cause neither  the  count  nor  the  countess  ever  came  to  quash 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  299 

their  pretensions ;  and  the  liberality  of  Monsieur  de  Serizy's 
concessions  allowed  of  their  living  in  abundance,  the  luxury 
of  country  homes.  Dairy  produce,  eggs,  poultry,  game,  fruit, 
forage,  flowers,  wood,  and  vegetables — the  steward  and  his 
wife  had  all  of  these  in  profusion,  and  bought  literally  nothing 
but  butcher's  meat  and  the  wine  and  foreign  produce  neces- 
sary to  their  lordly  extravagance.  The  poultry-wife  made 
the  bread  ;  and,  in  fact,  for  the  last  few  years,  Moreau  had 
paid  his  butcher's  bill  with  the  pigs  of  the  farm,  keeping  only 
as  much  pork  as  he  needed. 

One  day  the  countess,  always  very  generous  to  her  former 
lady's-maid,  made  Madame  Moreau  a  present,  as  a  souvenir 
perhaps,  of  a  little  traveling  chaise  of  a  past  fashion,  which 
Moreau  had  furbished  up,  and  in  which  his  wife  drove  out 
behind  a  pair  of  good  horses,  useful  at  other  times  in  the 
grounds.  Beside  this  pair,  the  steward  had  his  saddle-horse. 
He  ploughed  part  of  the  park-land,  and  raised  grain  enough 
to  feed  the  beasts  and  servants  ;  he  cut  three  hundred  tons 
more  or  less  of  good  hay,  accounting  for  no  more  than  one 
hundred,  encroaching  on  the  license  vaguely  granted  J&y  the 
count ;  and  instead  of  using  his  share  of  the  produce  on  the 
premises,  he  sold  it.  He  kept  his  poultry-farm,  his  pigeons, 
and  his  cows  on  the  crops  from  the  park-land  ;  but  then  the 
manure  from  his  stables  was  used  in  the  count's  garden. 
Each  of  these  pilfering  acts  had  an  excuse  ready. 

Madame  Moreau's  house-servant  was  the  daughter  of  one  of 
the  gardeners,  and  waited  on  her  and  cooked ;  she  was  helped 
in  the  housework  by  a  girl,  who  also  attended  to  the  poultry 
and  dairy.  Moreau  had  engaged  an  invalided  soldier  named 
Brochon  to  look  after  the  horses  and  do  the  dirty  work. 

At  Nerville,  at  Chauvry,  at  Beaumont,  at  Maffliers,  at  Pre^ 
roles,  at  Nointel,  the  steward's  pretty  wife  was  everywhere 
received  by  persons  who  did  not,  or  affected  not  to,  know  her 
original  position  in  life.  And  Moreau  could  confer  obliga- 
tions. He  could  use  his  master's  interest  in  matters  which  are 


300  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

of  immense  importance  in  the  depths  of  the  country  though 
trivial  in  Paris.  After  securing  for  friends  the  appointments 
of  justice  of  the  peace  at  Beaumont  and  at  1'Isle-Adam,  he 
had,  in  the  course  of  the  same  year,  saved  an  inspector  of 
forest-lands  from  dismissal,  and  obtained  the  cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor  for  the  quartermaster  at  Beaumont.  So 
there  was  never  a  festivity  among  the  more  respectable  neigh- 
bors without  Monsieur  and  Madame  Moreau  being  invited. 
The  cure  and  the  Mayor  of  Presles  were  to  be  seen  every 
evening  at  their  house.  A  man  can  hardly  help  being  a  good 
fellow  when  he  has  made  himself  so  comfortable. 

So  Madame  la  Regisseuse — a  pretty  woman,  and  full  of  airs, 
like  every  grand  lady's  servant  who,  when  she  marries,  apes 
her  mistress — introduced  the  latest  fashions,  wore  the  most 
expensive  shoes,  and  never  walked  out  but  in  fine  weather. 
Though  her  husband  gave  her  no  more  than  five  hundred 
francs  a  year  for  dress,  this  in  the  country  is  a  very  large  sum, 
especially  when  judiciously  spent;  and  his  "lady,"  fair, 
bright,  and  fresh-looking,  at  the  age  of  thirty-six,  and  remain- 
ing slight,  neat,  and  attractive  in  spite  of  her  three  children, 
still  played  the  girl,  and  gave  herself  the  airs  of  a  princess. 
If,  as  she  drove  past  in  her  open  chaise  on  her  way  to  Beau- 
mont, some  stranger  happened  to  inquire,  "Who  is  that?" 
Madame  Moreau  was  furious  if  a  native  of  the  place  replied, 
"She  is  the  steward's  wife  at  Presles."  She  aimed  at  being 
taken  for  the  mistress  of  the  mansion. 

She  amused  herself  with  patronizing  the  villagers,  as  a  great 
lady  might  have  done.  Her  husband's  power  with  the  count, 
proved  in  so  many  ways,  hindered  the  townsfolk  from  laugh- 
ing at  Madame  Moreau,  who  was  a  person  of  importance  in 
the  eyes  of  the  peasantry. 

Estelle,  however — her  name  was  Estelle — did  not  interfere 
in  the  management,  any  more  than  a  stockbroker's  wife  inter- 
feres in  dealings  on  the  Bourse ;  she  even  relied  on  her  hus- 
band for  the  administration  of  the  house  and  of  their  income. 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  301 

Quite  confident  in  her  own  powers  of  pleasing,  she  was  miles 
away  from  imagining  that  this  delightful  life,  which  had  gone 
on  for  seventeen  years,  could  ever  be  in  danger ;  however,  on 
hearing  that  the  count  had  resolved  on  restoring  the  splendid 
castle  of  Presles,  she  understood  that  all  her  enjoyments  were 
imperiled,  and  she  had  persuaded  her  husband  to  come  to 
terms  with  Leger,  so  as  to  have  a  retreat  at  1' Isle-Adam.  She 
could  not  have  borne  to  find  herself  in  an  almost  servile  posi- 
tion in  the  presence  of  her  former  mistress,  who  would  un- 
doubtedly laugh  at  her  on  finding  ner  established  at  the  lodge 
in  a  style  that  aped  the  lady  of  fashion. 

The  origin  of  the  deep-seated  enmity  between  the  Reyberts 
and  the  Moreaus  lay  in  a  stab  inflicted  on  Madame  Moreau 
by  Madame  de  Reybert  in  revenge  for  a  pin-prick  that  the 
steward's  wife  had  dared  to  give  on  the  first  arrival  of  the 
Reyberts,  lest  her  supremacy  should  be  infringed  on  by  the 
lady  nee  de  Corroy.  Madame  de  Reybert  had  mentioned, 
and  perhaps  for  the  first  time  informed  the  neighborhood,  of 
Madame  Moreau's  original  calling.  The  words  lady's-maid 
flew  from  lip  to  lip.  All  those  who  envied  the  Moreaus — and 
they  must  have  been  many — at  Beaumont,  at  1'Isle-Adam,  at 
Maffliers,  at  Champagne,  at  Nerville,  at  Chauvry,  at  Baillet, 
at  Moisselles,  made  such  pregnant  comments  that  more  than 
one  spark  from  this  conflagration  fell  into  the  Moreaus'  home. 
For  four  years,  now,  the  Reyberts,  excommunicated  by  their 
pretty  rival,  had  become  the  object  of  so  much  hostile  ani- 
madversion from  her  partisans  that  their  position  would  have 
been  untenable  but  for  the  thought  of  vengeance  which  had 
sustained  them  to  this  day. 

The  Moreaus,  who  were  very  good  friends  with  Grindot  the 
architect,  had  been  told  by  him  of  the  arrival  ere  long  of  a 
painter  commissioned  to  finish  the  decorative  panels  at  the 
castle,  Schinner  having  executed  the  more  important  pieces. 
This  great  painter  recommended  the  artist  we  have  seen 


302  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

traveling  with  Mistigris,  to  paint  the  borders,  arabesques,  and 
other  accessory  decorations.  Hence,  for  two  days  past, 
Madame  Moreau  had  been  preparing  her  war-paint  and  sitting 
expectant.  An  artist  who  was  to  board  with  her  for  some 
weeks  was  worthy  of  some  outlay.  Schinner  and  his  wife  had 
been  quartered  in  the  castle,  where,  by  the  count's  orders, 
they  had  been  entertained  like  my  lord  himself.  Grindot, 
who  boarded  with  the  Moreaus,  had  treated  the  great  artist 
with  so  much  respect  that  neither  the  steward  nor  his  wife 
had  ventured  on  any  familiarity.  And,  indeed,  the  richest 
and  most  noble  landowners  in  the  district  had  vied  with  each 
other  in  entertaining  Schinner  and  his  wife.  So  now  Madame 
Moreau,  much  pleased  at  the  prospect  of  turning  the  tables, 
promised  herself  that  she  would  sound  the  trumpet  before  the 
artist  who  was  to  be  her  guest,  and  make  him  out  a  match  in 
talent  for  Schinner. 

Although  on  the  two  previous  days  she  had  achieved  very 
coquettish  toilets,  the  steward's  pretty  wife  had  husbanded 
her  resources  too  well  not  to  have  reserved  the  most  bewitch- 
ing till  the  Saturday,  never  doubting  that  on  that  day  at  any 
rate  the  artist  would  arrive  to  dinner.  She  had  shod  herself 
in  bronze  kid  with  fine  thread  stockings.  A  dress  of  finely 
striped  pink-and-white  muslin,  a  pink  belt  with  a  chased  gold 
buckle,  a  cross  and  heart  round  her  neck,  and  wristlets  of 
black  velvet  on  her  bare  arms — Madame  de  Serizy  had  fine 
arms,  and  was  fond  of  displaying  them — gave  Madame 
Moreau  the  style  of  a  fashionable  Parisian.  She  put  on  a 
very  handsome  Leghorn  hat,  graced  with  a  bunch  of  moss 
roses  made  by  Nattier,  and  under  its  broad  shade  her  fair 
hair  flowed  in  glossy  curls. 

Having  ordered  a  first-rate  dinner  and  carefully  inspected 
the  rooms,  she  went  out  at  an  hour  which  brought  her  to  the 
large  flower-bed  in  the  court  of  the  castle,  like  the  lady  of  the 
house,  just  when  the  coach  would  pass.  Over  her  head  she 
held  a  very  elegant  pink  silk  parasol  lined  with  white  and 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  S03 

trimmed  with  fringe.  On  seeing  Pierrotin  hand  over  to  the 
lodge-keeper  the  artist's  extraordinary-looking  baggage,  and 
perceiving  no  owner,  Estelle  had  returned  home  lament- 
ing the  waste  of  another  carefully  arranged  toilet.  And, 
like  most  people  who  have  dressed  for  an  occasion,  she  felt 
quite  incapable  of  any  occupation  but  that  of  doing  nothing 
in  her  drawing-room  while  waiting  for  the  passing  of  the 
Beaumont  coach  which  should  come  through  an  hour  after 
Pierrotin's,  though  it  did  not  start  from  Paris  till  one  o'clock ; 
thus  she  was  waiting  at  home  while  the  two  young  artists  were 
dressing  for  dinner.  In  fact,  the  young  painter  and  Mistigris 
were  so  overcome  by  the  description  of  lovely  Madame  Moreau 
given  them  by  the  gardener  whom  they  had  questioned,  that 
it  was  obvious  to  them  both  that  they  must  get  themselves  into 
their  best  "  toggery."  So  they  donned  their  very  best  before 
presenting  themselves  at  the  steward's  house,  whither  they  were 
conducted  by  Jacques  Moreau,  the  eldest  of  the  children,  a 
stalwart  youth,  dressed  in  the  English  fashion,  in  a  round 
jacket  with  a  turned-down  collar,  and  as  happy  during  the 
holidays  as  a  fish  in  water,  here  on  the  estate  where  his  mother 
reigned  supreme. 

"Mamma,"  said  he,  "here  are  the  two  artists  come  from 
Monsieur  Schinner." 

Madame  Moreau,  very  agreeably  surprised,  rose,  bid  her 
son  set  chairs,  and  displayed  all  her  graces. 

"  Mamma,  little  Husson  is  with  father  ;  shall  I  fetch  him  ?  " 
whispered  the  boy  in  her  ear. 

"There  is  no  hurry,  you  can  stop  and  amuse  him,"  said 
the  mother. 

The  mere  words  "there  is  no  hurry"  showed  the  two 
artists  how  entirely  unimportant  was  their  traveling  com- 
panion, but  the  tone  also  betrayed  the  indifference  of  a  step- 
mother for  her  stepchild.  In  fact,  Madame  Moreau,  who, 
after  seventeen  years  of  married  life,  could  not  fail  to  be  aware 
of  her  husband's  attachment  to  Madame  Clapart  and  young 


304  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

Husson,  hated  the  mother  and  son  in  so  overt  a  manner  that 
it  is  easy  to  understand  why  Moreau  had  never  till  now  ven- 
tured to  invite  Oscar  to  Presles. 

"  We  are  requested,  my  husband  and  I,"  said  she  to  the  two 
artists,  "to  do  the  honors  of  the  castle.  We  are  fond  of  art, 
and  more  especially  of  artists,"  said  she,  with  a  simper,  "and 
I  beg  you  to  consider  yourselves  quite  at  home  here.  In  the 
country,  you  see,  there  is  no  ceremony ;  liberty  is  indispen- 
sable, otherwise  life  is  too  insipid.  We  have  had  Monsieur 
Schinner  here  already " 

Mistigris  gave  his  companion  a  mischievous  wink. 

"You  know  him,  of  course,"  said  Estelle,  after  a  pause. 

"Who  does  not  know  him,  madame?"  replied  the  painter. 

"  He  is  as  well  known  as  the  parish  birch,"  added  Mistigris. 

"Monsieur  Grindot  mentioned  your  name,"  said  Madame 
Moreau,  "but  really  I " 

"  Joseph  Bridau,  madame,"  replied  the  artist,  extremely 
puzzled  as  to  what  this  woman  could  be. 

Mistigris  was  beginning  to  fume  inwardly  at  this  fair  lady's 
patronizing  tone ;  still,  he  waited,  as  Bridau  did  too,  for  some 
movement,  some  chance  word  to  enlighten  them,  one  of  those 
expressions  of  assumed  fme-ladyism,  which  painters,  those 
born  and  cruel  observers  of  folly — the  perennial  food  of  their 
pencil — seize  on  in  an  instant.  In  the  first  place,  Estelle's 
large  hands  and  feet,  those  of  a  peasant  from  the  district  of 
Saint-L6,  struck  them  at  once ;  and  before  long  one  or  two 
lady's-maid's  phrases,  modes  of  speech  that  gave  the  lie  to  the 
elegance  of  her  dress,  betrayed  their  prey  into  the  hands  of 
the  artist  and  his  apprentice.  They  exchanged  a  look  which 
pledged  them  both  to  take  Estelle  quite  seriously  as  a  pastime 
during  their  stay. 

"You  are  so  fond  of  art,  perhaps  you  cultivate  it  with  suc- 
cess, madame?"  said  Joseph  Bridau. 

"No.  Though  my  education  was  not  neglected,  it  was 
purely  commercial.  But  I  have  such  a  marked  and  delicate 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  305 

feeling  for  art,  that  Monsieur  Schinner  always  begged  me, 
when  he  had  finished  a  piece,  to  give  him  my  opinion." 
"Just  as  Moliere  consulted  La  Foret,"  said  Mistigris. 
Not   knowing   that  La  Foret  was  a  servant-girl,  Madame 
Moreau  responded  with  a  graceful  droop,  showing  that  in  her 
ignorance  she  regarded  this  speech  as  a  compliment. 

"  How  is  it  that  he  did  not  propose  just  to  knock  off  your 
head  ?  "  said  Bridau.  "  Painters  are  generally  on  the  lookout 
for  handsome  women." 

"  What  is  your  meaning,  pray  ?  "  said  Madame  Moreau,  on 
whose  face  dawned  the  wrath  of  an  offended  queen. 

"  In  studio  slang,  to  knock  a  thing  off  is  to  sketch  it,"  said 
Mistigris,  in  an  ingratiating  tone,  "  and  all  we  ask  is  to  have 
handsome  heads  to  sketch.  And  we  sometimes  say  in  admi- 
ration that  a  woman's  beauty  has  knocked  us  over." 

"Ah,  I  did  not  know  the  origin  of  the  phrase  !  "  replied 
she,  with  a  look  of  languishing  sweetness  at  Mistigris. 

"My  pupil,  Monsieur  Leon  de  Lora,"  said  Bridau,  "has  a 
great  talent  for  likeness.  He  would  be  only  too  happy,  fair 
being,  to  leave  you  a  souvenir  of  his  skill  by  painting  your 
charming  face." 

And  Bridau  signaled  to  Mistigris,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Come,  drive  it  home,  she  really  is  not  amiss  !  " 

Taking  this  hint,  Leon  de  Lora  moved  to  the  sofa  by 
Estelle's  side,  and  took  her  hand,  which  she  left  in  his. 

"  Oh  !  if  only  as  a  surprise  to  your  husband,  madame,  you 
could  give  me  a  few  sittings  in  secret,  I  would  try  to  excel 
myself.  You  are  so  lovely,  so  young,  so  charming  !  A  man 
devoid  of  talent  might  become  a  genius  with  you  for  his 

model !     In  your  eyes  he  would  find " 

"And  we  would  represent  your  sweet  children  in  our  ara- 
besques," said  Joseph,  interrupting  Mistigris. 

"  I  would  rather  have  them  in  my  own  drawing-room  ;  but 
that  would  be  asking  too  much,"  said  she,  looking  coquet- 
tishly  at  Bridau. 
20 


306  A  START  IN  LIFE. 

"Beauty,  madame,  is  a  queen  whom  painters  worship,  and 
who  has  every  right  to  command  them." 

"They  are  quite  charming,"  thought  Madame  Moreau. 
"  Do  you  like  driving  out  in  the  evening,  after  dinner,  in  an 
open  carriage,  in  the  woods?" 

"  Oh !  oh !  oh !  oh !  "  cried  Mistigris,  in  ecstatic  tones  at  each 
added  detail.  "  Why,  Presles,  will  be  an  earthly  paradise." 

"  With  a  fair-haired  Eve,  a  young  and  bewitching  woman," 
added  Bridau. 

Just  as  Madame  Moreau  was  preening  herself,  and  soaring 
into  the  seventh  heaven,  she  was  brought  down  again  like  a 
kite  by  a  tug  at  the  cord. 

"  Madame  !  "  exclaimed  the  maid,  bouncing  in  like  a  can- 
non ball. 

"  Bless  me,  Rosalie,  what  can  justify  you  in  coming  in  like 
this  without  being  called  ?  " 

Rosalie  did  not  trouble  her  head  about  this  apostrophe,  but 
said  in  her  mistress'  ear — 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte  is  here." 

"  Did  he  ask  for  me?  "  said  the  steward's  wife. 

"No,  madame — but — he  wants  his  portmanteau  and  the 
key  of  his  room." 

"Let  him  have  them  then,"  said  she,  with  a  cross  shrug  to 
disguise  her  uneasiness. 

"  Mamma,  here  is  Oscar  Husson  !  "  cried  her  youngest  son, 
bringing  in  Oscar,  who,  as  red  as  a  poppy,  dared  not  come 
forward  as  he  saw  the  two  painters  in  different  dress. 

"  So  here  you  are  at  last,  boy,"  said  Estelle  coldly.  "  You 
are  going  to  dress,  I  hope?"  she  went  on,  after  looking  at 
him  from  head  to  foot  with  great  contempt.  "  I  suppose  your 
mother  has  not  brought  you  up  to  dine  in  company  in  such 
clothes  as  those." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  the  ruthless  Mistigris,  <fa  coming  diplo- 
matist must  surely  have  a  seat — to  his  trousers !  A  coat  to 
dine  saves  wine." 


A   STAR T  IN  LIFE.  307 

"A  coming  diplomatist?"  cried  Madame  Moreau. 

The  tears  rose  to  poor  Oscar's  eyes  as  he  looked  from 
Joseph  to  Leon. 

"  Only  a  jest  by  the  way,"  replied  Joseph,  who  wished  to 
help  Oscar  in  his  straits. 

"  The  boy  wanted  to  make  fun  as  we  did  and  he  tried  to 
humbug,"  said  the  merciless  Mistigris.  "And  now  he  finds 
himself  the  ass  with  a  lion's  grin." 

"  Madame,"  said  Rosalie,  coming  back  to  the  drawing-room 
door,  "his  excellency  has  ordered  dinner  for  eight  persons  at 
six  o'clock ;  what  is  to  be  done? " 

While  Estelle  and  her  maid  were  holding  counsel,  the 
artists  and  Oscar  gazed  at  each  other,  their  eyes  big  with  ter- 
rible apprehensions. 

" His  excellency — Who?"  said  Joseph  Bridau. 

"Why,  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Serizy,"  replied  little 
Moreau. 

"Was  it  he,  by  chance,  in  the  coucou?"  said  Leon  de 
Lora. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Oscar,  "the  Comte  de  Serizy  would 
surely  never  travel  but  in  a  coach  and  four." 

"  How  did  he  come,  madame — the  Comte  de  Seiizy?"  the 
painter  asked  of  Madame  Moreau  when  she  came  back  very 
much  upset. 

"I  have  no  idea,"  said  she.  "I  cannot  account  for  his 
coming,  nor  guess  what  he  has  come  for.  And  Moreau  is 
out!" 

"  His  excellency  begs  you  will  go  over  to  the  castle,  Mon- 
sieur Schinner,"  said  the  gardener,  coming  to  the  door,  "and 
he  begs  you  will  give  him  the  pleasure  of  your  company  at 
dinner,  as  well  as  Monsieur  Mistigris." 

"  Our  goose  is  cooked  !  "  said  the  lad  with  a  laugh.  "The 
man  we  took  for  a  country  worthy  in  Pierrotin's  chaise  was 
the  count.  So  true  is  it  that  what  you  seek  you  never  bind," 
he  added. 


308  A  START  IN  LIFE. 

Oscar  was  almost  turning  to  a  pillar  of  salt ;  for,  on  hearing 
this,  his  throat  felt  as  salt  as  the  sea. 

"And  you  !  Who  told  him  all  about  his  wife's  adorers  and 
his  skin  disease?"  said  Mistigris  to  Oscar. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  cried  the  steward's  wife,  looking 
at  the  two  artists,  who  went  off  laughing  at  Oscar's  face. 

Oscar  stood  speechless,  thunderstruck ;  hearing  nothing, 
though  Madame  Moreau  was  questioning  him  and  shaking 
him  violently  by  one  of  his  arms,  which  she  had  seized  and 
clutched  tightly ;  but  she  was  obliged  to  leave  him  where  he 
was  without  having  extracted  a  reply,  for  Rosalie  called  her 
again  to  give  out  linen  and  plate,  and  to  request  her  to  attend 
in  person  to  the  numerous  orders  given  by  the  count.  The 
house-servants,  the  gardeners,  everybody  on  the  place,  were 
rushing  to  and  fro  in  such  confusion  as  may  be  imagined. 

The  master  had  in  fact  dropped  on  the  household  like  a 
shell  from  a  mortar.  From  above  la  Cave  the  count  had  made 
his  way  by  a  path,  familiar  to  him,  to  the  gamekeeper's  hut, 
and  reached  it  before  Moreau.  The  gamekeeper  was  amazed 
to  see  his  real  master. 

"  Is  Moreau  here,  I  see  his  horse  waiting  ?  "  asked  Monsieur 
de  Sdrizy. 

"No,  monseigneur;  but  as  he  is  going  over  to  les  Mou- 
lineaux  before  dinner,  he  left  his  horse  here  while  he  ran 
across  to  give  some  orders  at  the  house." 

The  gamekeeper  had  no  idea  of  the  effect  of  this  reply, 
which,  under  existing  circumstances,  was,  in  the  eyes  of  a 
clear-sighted  man,  tantamount  to  assurance. 

"If  you  value  your  place,"  said  the  count  to  the  keeper, 
"  ride  as  fast  as  you  can  pelt  to  Beaumont  on  this  horse,  and 
deliver  to  Monsieur  Margueron  a  note  I  will  give  you." 

The  count  went  into  the  man's  lodge,  wrote  a  line,  folded 
it  in  such  a  manner  that  it  could  not  be  opened  without  detec- 
tion, and  gave  it  to  the  man  as  soon  as  he  was  in  the  saddle. 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  309 

"Not  a  word  to  any  living  soul,"  said  he.  "And  you, 
madame,"  he  added  to  the  keeper's  wife,  "  if  Moreau  is  sur- 
prised at  not  finding  his  horse  here,  tell  him  merely  that  I 
took  it." 

And  the  count  went  off  across  the  park,  through  the  gate 
which  was  opened  for  him  at  his  nod. 

Inured  though  a  man  may  be  to  the  turmoil  of  political 
life,  with  its  excitement  and  vicissitudes,  the  soul  of  a  man 
who,  at  the  count's  age,  is  still  firm  enough  to  love,  is  also 
young  enough  to  feel  a  betrayal.  It  was  so  hard  to  believe 
that  Moreau  was  deceiving  him,  that  at  Saint-Brice  Monsieur 
de  S6rizy  had  supposed  him  to  be  not  so  much  in  league  with 
Leger  and  the  notary  as,  in  fact,  led  away  by  them.  And  so, 
standing  in  the  inn  gateway,  as  he  heard  Pere  Leger  talking 
to  the  innkeeper,  he  intended  to  forgive  his  land  steward  after 
a  severe  reproof. 

And  then,  strange  to  say,  the  dishonesty  of  his  trusted 
agent  had  seemed  no  more  than  an  episode  when  Oscar  had 
blurted  out  the  noble  infirmities  of  the  intrepid  traveler,  the 
Minister  of  Napoleon.  Secrets  so  strictly  kept  could  only 
have  been  revealed  by  Moreau,  who  had  no  doubt  spoken 
contemptuously  of  his  benefactor  to  Madame  de  Serizy's 
former  maid,  or  to  the  erstwhile  Aspasia  of  the  Directoire. 

As  he  made  his  way  down  the  cross-road  to  the  castle,  the 
peer  of  France,  the  great  minister,  had  shed  bitter  tears, 
weeping  as  a  boy  weeps.  They  were  his  last  tears  that  he 
shed  !  Every  human  feeling  at  once  was  so  cruelly,  so  merci- 
lessly attacked,  that  this  self-controlled  man  rushed  on  across 
his  park  like  a  hunted  animal. 

When  Moreau  asked  for  his  horse,  and  the  keeper's  wife 
replied — 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte  has  just  taken  it." 

"  Who — Monsieur  le  Comte  ?  "  cried  he. 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Serizy,  the  master,"  said  she. 
"Perhaps  he  is  at  the  castle,"  added  she,  to  get  rid  of  the 


310  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

steward,  who,  quite  bewildered  by  this  occurrence,  went  off 
toward  the  house. 

But  he  presently  returned  to  question  the  keeper's  wife,  for 
it  had  struck  him  that  there  was  some  serious  motive  for  his 
master's  secret  arrival  and  unwonted  conduct.  The  woman, 
terrified  at  finding  herself  in  a  vise,  as  it  were,  between  the 
count  and  the  steward,  had  shut  herself  into  her  lodge,  quite 
determined  only  to  open  the  door  to  her  husband.  Moreau, 
more  and  more  uneasy,  hurried  across  to  the  gatekeeper's 
lodge,  where  he  was  told  that  the  count  was  dressing.  Rosa- 
lie, whom  he  met,  announced:  "Seven  people  to  dine  at  the 
count's  table." 

Moreau  next  went  home,  where  he  found  the  poultry-girl 
in  hot  discussion  with  an  odd-looking  young  man. 

"Monsieur  le  Comte  told  us,  '  Mina's  aide-de-camp  and  a 
colonel,'  "  the  girl  insisted. 

"I  am  not  a  colonel,"  replied  Georges. 

"  Well,  but  is  your  name  Georges  ?  " 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  the  steward,  intervening. 

"  Monsieur,  my  name  is  Georges  Marest ;  I  am  the  son  of 
a  rich  hardware  dealer,  wholesale,  in  the  Rue  Saint-Martin, 
and  I  have  come  on  business  to  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Serizy 
from  Maitre  Crottat,  his  notary — I  am  his  second  clerk." 

"And  I  can  only  repeat,  sir,  what  monsieur  said  to  me — 
'  A  gentleman  will  come,'  says  he,  '  a  Colonel  Czerni-Georges, 
aide-de-camp  to  Mina,  who  traveled  down  in  Pierrotin's 
chaise.  If  he  asks  for  me,  show  him  at  once  into  the  drawing- 
room.'  " 

"  There  is  no  joking  with  his  excellency,"  said  the  steward. 
"You  had  better  go  in,  monsieur.  But  how  is  it  that  his 
excellency  came  down  without  announcing  his  purpose  ?  And 
how  does  he  know  that  you  traveled  by  Pierrotin's  chaise?" 

"It  is  perfectly  clear,"  said  the  clerk,  "that  the  count  is 
the  gentleman  who,  but  for  the  civility  of  a  young  man,  would 
have  had  to  ride  on  the  front  seat  of  Pierrotin's  coucou." 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  311 

"  On  the  front  seat  of  Pierrotin's  coucou  ?  "  cried  the  stew- 
ard and  the  farm-girl. 

"I  am  quite  sure  of  it  from  what  this  girl  tells  me,"  said 
Georges  Marest. 

"But  how ?"  the  steward  began. 

"Ah,  there  you  are  !  "  cried  Georges.  "  To  humbug  the 
other  travelers,  I  told  them  a  heap  of  cock-and-bull  stories 
about  Egypt,  Greece,  and  Spain.  I  had  spurs  on,  and  I  gave 
myself  out  as  a  colonel  in  the  cavalry — a  mere  joke." 

"And  what  was  the  gentleman  like,  whom  you  believe  to 
be  the  count?"  asked  Moreau. 

"Why,  he  has  a  face  the  color  of  brick,"  said  Georges, 
"with  perfectly  white  hair  and  black  eyebrows." 

"That  is  the  man!" 

"I  am  done  for !  "  said  Georges  Marest. 

"Why?" 

"I  made  fun  of  his  orders." 

"  Pooh,  he  is  a  thorough  good  fellow ;  you  will  have 
amused  him.  Come  to  the  castle  forthwith,"  said  Moreau. 
"I  am  going  up  to  the  count.  Where  did  he  leave  you?" 

"At  the  top  of  the  hill." 

"I  can  make  neither  head  nor  tail  of  it !  "  cried  Moreau. 

"After  all,  I  poked  fun  at  him,  but  I  did  not  insult  him," 
said  the  clerk  to  himself. 

"And  what  are  you  here  for?"  asked  the  steward. 

"  I  have  brought  the  deed  of  sale  of  the  farm-lands  of  les 
Moulineaux,  ready  made  out." 

"Good  heavens!"  exclaimed  Moreau.  "I  don't  under- 
stand." 

Moreau  felt  his  heart  beat  painfully  when,  after  knocking 
two  raps  on  his  master's  door,  he  heard  in  reply — 

"Is  that  you,  Monsieur  Moreau?" 

"Yes,  monseigneur." 

"Come  in." 

The  count  was  dressed  in  white  trousers  and  thin  boots,  a 


312  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

white  vest,  and  a  black  coat  on  which  glittered,  on  the  right* 
hand  side,  the  star  of  the  grand  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor, 
and  on  the  left,  from  a  buttonhole,  hung  that  of  the  Golden 
Fleece  from  a  gold  chain ;  the  blue  ribbon  was  conspicuous 
across  his  vest.  He  had  dressed  his  hair  himself,  and  had  no 
doubt  got  himself  up  to  do  the  honors  of  Presles  to  Margueron, 
and,  perhaps,  to  impress  that  worthy  with  the  atmosphere  of 
grandeur. 

"Well,  monsieur,"  said  the  count,  who  remained  sitting, 
but  allowed  Moreau  to  stand,  "so  we  cannot  come  to  terms 
with  Margueron  ?  " 

"  At  the  present  moment  he  wants  entirely  too  much  for 
his  farm." 

"  But  why  should  he  not  come  over  here  to  talk  about  it  ?  " 
said  the  count  in  an  absent-minded  way. 

"He  is  ill,  monseigneur " 

"  Are  you  sure?" 

"  I  went  over  there " 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  count,  assuming  a  stern  expression 
that  was  terrible,  "  what  would  you  do  to  a  man  whom  you 
had  allowed  to  see  you  dress  a  wound  you  wished  to  keep 
secret,  and  who  went  off  to  make  game  of  it  with  a  street 
trollop?" 

"  I  should  give  him  a  sound  thrashing." 

"  And  if,  in  addition  to  this,  you  discovered  that  he  was 
cheating  your  confidence  and  robbing  you?" 

"  I  should  try  to  catch  him  out  and  send  him  to  the  hulks." 

"Listen,  Monsieur  Moreau.  You  have,  I  suppose,  dis- 
cussed my  health  with  Madame  Clapart  and  made  fun  at  her 
house  of  my  devotion  to  my  wife,  for  little  Hussonwas  giving 
to  the  passengers  in  a  public  conveyance  a  vast  deal  of  infor- 
mation with  reference  to  my  cures,  in  my  presence,  this  very 
morning,  and  in  what  words  !  God  knows !  He  dared  to 
slander  my  wife. 

"  Again,  I  heard  from  Farmer  Leger's  own  lips,  as  he  re- 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  313 

turned  from  Paris  in  Pierrotin's  chaise,  of  the  plan  concocted 
by  the  notary  of  Beaumont  with  him,  and  with  you,  with 
reference  to  les  Moulineaux.  If  you  have  been  at  all  to  see 
Margueron,  it  was  to  instruct  him  to  sham  illness ;  he  is  so 
little  ill  that  I  expect  him  to  dinner,  and  he  is  coming.  Well, 
monsieur,  as  to  your  having  made  a  fortune  of  two  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs  in  seventeen  years — I  forgive  you. 
I  understand  it.  If  you  had  but  asked  me  for  what  you  took 
from  me,  or  what  others  offered  you,  I  would  have  given  it  to 
you ;  you  have  a  family  to  provide  for.  Even  with  your  want 
of  delicacy  you  have  treated  me  better  than  another  might 
have  done,  that  I  believe - 

"  But  that  you,  who  know  all  that  I  have  done  for  my 
country,  for  France,  you  who  have  seen  me  sit  up  a  hundred 
nights  and  more  to  work  for  the  Emperor,  or  toiling  eighteen 
hours  a  day  for  three  months  on  end  ;  that  you,  who  know  my 
worship  of  Madame  de  Serizy,  should  have  gossiped  about  it 
before  a  boy,  have  betrayed  my  secrets  to  the  mockery  of  a 
Madame  Husson " 

"  Monseigneur !  " 

"  It  is  unpardonable.  To  damage  a  man's  interest  is 
nothing,  but  to  strike  at  his  heart !  Ah  !  you  do  not  know 
what  you  have  done  !  " 

The  count  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and  was  silent 
for  a  moment. 

"  I  leave  you  in  possession  of  what  you  have,"  he  went  on, 
"and  I  will  forget  you.  As  a  point  of  dignity,  of  honor, 
we  will  part  without  quarreling,  for,  at  this  moment,  I  can 
remember  what  your  father  did  for  mine. 

"  You  must  come  to  terms — good  terms — with  Monsieur  de 
Reybert,  your  successor.  Be  calm,  as  I  am.  Do  not  make 
yourself  a  spectacle  for  fools.  Above  all,  no  bluster  and  no 
haggling.  Though  you  have  forfeited  my  confidence,  try  to 
preserve  the  decorum  of  wealth.  As  to  the  little  wretch  who 
has  half  killed  me,  he  is  not  to  sleep  at  Presles.  Send  him 


314  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

to  the  inn  ;  I  cannot  answer  for  what  I  might  do  if  he  crossed 
my  path." 

"I  do  not  deserve  such  leniency,  monseigneur,"  said 
Moreau,  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  "  If  I  had  been  utterly  dis- 
honest I  should  have  five  hundred  thousand  francs;  and 
indeed  I  will  gladly  account  for  every  franc  in  detail.  But 
permit  me  to  assure  you,  monseigneur,  that  when  I  spoke  of 
you  to  Madame  Clapart  it  was  never  in  derision.  On  the 
contrary,  it  was  to  deplore  your  condition  and  to  ask  her 
whether  she  did  not  know  of  some  remedy,  unfamiliar  to  the 
medical  profession,  which  the  common  people  use.  I  have 
spoken  of  you  in  the  boy's  presence  when  he  was  asleep — but 
he  heard  me,  it  would  seem ! — and  always  in  terms  of  the 
deepest  affection  and  respect.  Unfortunately,  a  blunder  is 
sometimes  punished  as  a  crime.  Still,  while  I  bow  to  the 
decisions  of  your  just  anger,  I  would  have  you  to  know  what 
really  happened.  Yes,  it  was  heart  to  heart  that  I  spoke  of 
you  to  Madame  Clapart.  And  only  ask  my  wife ;  never  have 
I  mentioned  these  matters  to  her " 

"  That  will  do,"  said  the  count,  whose  conviction  was  com- 
plete. "We  are  not  children;  the  past  is  irrevocable 

Go  and  set  your  affairs  and  mine  in  order.  You  may  remain 
in  the  lodge  till  the  month  of  October.  Monsieur  and 
Madame  de  Reybert  will  live  in  the  castle.  Above  all,  try  to 
live  with  them  as  gentlemen  should — hating  each  other,  but 
keeping  up  appearances." 

The  count  and  Moreau  went  downstairs,  Moreau  as  white 
as  the  count's  hair,  Monsieur  de  Serizy  calm  and  dignified. 

While  this  scene  was  going  forward,  the  Beaumont  coach, 
leaving  Paris  at  one  o'clock,  had  stopped  at  the  gate  of 
Presles  to  set  down  Maitre  Crottat,  who,  in  obedience  to  the 
count's  orders,  was  shown  into  the  drawing-room  to  wait  for 
him ;  there  he  found  his  clerk  excessively  crestfallen,  in  com- 
pany with  the  two  painters,  all  three  conspicuously  uncom- 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  315 

fortable.  Monsieur  de  Reybert,  a  man  of  fifty,  with  a  very 
surly  expression,  had  brought  with  him  old  Margueron  and  the 
notary  from  Beaumont,  who  held  a  bundle  of  leases  and  title- 
deeds. 

When  this  assembled  party  saw  the  count  appear  in  full 
court  costume,  Georges  Marest  had  a  spasm  in  the  stomach 
and  Joseph  Bridau  felt  a  qualm ;  but  Mistigris,  who  was  him- 
self in  his  Sunday  clothes,  and  who  indeed  had  no  crime  on 
his  conscience,  said  loud  enough  to  be  heard — 

"  Well,  he  looks  much  nicer  now." 

"You  little  rascal,"  said  the  count,  drawing  him  toward 
him  by  one  ear,  "  so  we  both  deal  in  decorations  !  Do  you 
recognize  your  work,  my  dear  Schinner  ?  "  he  went  on,  point- 
ing to  the  ceiling. 

"  Monseigneur,"  said  the  artist,  "I  was  so  foolish  as  to 
assume  so  famous  a  name  out  of  bravado;  but  to-day's  ex- 
perience makes  it  incumbent  on  me  to  do  something  good  and 
win  glory  for  that  of  Joseph  Bridau." 

"You  took  my  part,"  said  the  count  eagerly,  "and  I  hope 
you  will  do  me  the  pleasure  of  dining  with  me — you  and 
your  witty  Mistigris." 

"You  do  not  know  to  what  you  are  exposing  yourself," 
said  the  audacious  youngster;  "an  empty  stomach  knows  no 
peers." 

"  Bridau,"  said  the  count,  struck  by  a  sudden  reminiscence, 
"are  you  related  to  one  of  the  greatest  workers  under  the 
Empire,  a  brigadier  in  command  who  died  a  victim  to  his 
zeal?" 

"  I  am  his  son,  my  lord,"  said  Joseph,  bowing. 

"Then  you  are  welcome  here,"  replied  the  count,  taking 
the  artist's  hand  in  both  his  own ;  "  I  knew  your  father,  and 
you  may  depend  on  me  as  on — an  American  uncle,"  said 
Monsieur  de  Serizy,  smiling.  "But  you  are  too  young  to 
have  a  pupil — to  whom  does  Mistigris  belong?" 

"  To  my  friend  Schinner,  who  has  lent  him  to  me,"  replied 


316  A  START  IN  LIFE. 

Joseph.  "  Mistigris'  name  is  Leon  de  Lora.  My  lord,  if  you 
remember  my  father,  will  you  condescend  to  bear  in  mind  his 
other  son,  who  stands  accused  of  conspiring  against  the  State, 
and  is  on  his  trial  before  the  Supreme  Court " 

"To  be  sure,"  said  the  count.  "I  will  bear  it  in  mind, 
believe  me.  As  to  Prince  Czerni-Georges,  AH  Pasha's  ally, 

and  Mina's  aide-de-camp "  said  the  count,  turning  to 

Georges. 

"  He? — my  second  clerk  ?  "  cried  Crottat. 

"  You  are  under  a  mistake,  Maltre  Crottat,"  said  Monsieur 
de  Serizy,  very  severely.  "  A  clerk  who  hopes  ever  to  be- 
come a  notary  does  not  leave  important  documents  in  a  dili- 
gence at  the  mercy  of  his  fellow-travelers  !  A  clerk  who  hopes 
to  become  a  notary  does  not  spend  twenty  francs  between 
Paris  and  Moisselles  !  A  clerk  who  hopes  to  become  a  notary 
does  not  expose  himself  to  arrest  as  a  deserter " 

"  Monseigneur,"  said  Georges  Marest,  "  I  may  have  amused 
myself  by  playing  a  practical  joke  on  a  party  of  travelers, 
but " 

"  Do  not  interrupt  his  excellency,"  said  his  master,  giving 
him  a  violent  nudge  in  the  ribs. 

"  A  notary  ought  early  to  develop  the  gifts  of  discretion, 
prudence,  and  discernment,  and  not  mistake  a  minister  of 
State  for  a  candlemaker. " 

"I  accept  sentence  for  my  errors,"  said  Georges;  "but  I 
did  not  leave  my  papers  at  the  mercy " 

"You  are  at  this  moment  committing  the  error  of  giving 
the  lie  to  a  minister  of  State,  a  peer  of  France,  a  gentleman, 
an  old  man — and  a  client.  Look  for  your  deed  of  sale." 

The  clerk  turned  over  the  papers  in  his  portfolio. 

"Do  not  make  a  mess  of  your  papers,"  said  the  count, 
taking  the  document  out  of  his  pocket.  "  Here  is  the  deed 
you  are  seeking." 

Crottat  turned  it  over  three  times,  so  much  was  he  amazed 
at  receiving  it  from  the  hands  of  his  noble  client. 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  317 

"What,  sir !  "  he  at  last  began,  addressing  Georges. 

"If  I  had  not  taken  it,"  the  count  went  on,  "  Pere  Le^er 
— who  is  not  such  a  fool  as  you  fancy  him  from  his  questions 
as  to  agriculture,  since  they  might  have  taught  you  that  a  man 
should  always  be  thinking  of  his  business — Pere  Leger  might 
have  gotten  hold  of  it  and  discovered  my  plans.  You  also  will 
give  me  the  pleasure  of  your  company  at  dinner,  but  on  con- 
dition of  telling  us  the  history  of  the  Moslem's  execution  at 
Smyrna,  and  of  finishing  the  memoirs  of  some  client  which 
you  read,  no  doubt,  before  publication." 

"A  trouncing  for  bouncing  !  "  said  Leon  de  Lora,  in  a  low 
voice  to  Joseph  Bridau. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  count  to  the  notary  from  Beaumont, 
to  Crottat,  Margueron,  and  Reybert,  "  come  into  the  other 
room.  We  will  not  sit  down  to  dinner  till  we  have  concluded 
our  bargain ;  for,  as  my  friend  Mistigris  says,  we  must  know 
when  to  creep  silent." 

"  Well,  he  is  a  thoroughly  good  fellow,"  said  Leon  de  Lora 
to  Georges  Marest. 

"Yes;  but  if  he  is  a  good  fellow,  my  governor  is  not,  and 
he  will  request  me  to  play  my  tricks  elsewhere." 

"Well,  you  like  traveling,"  said  Bridau. 

"  What  a  dressing  that  boy  will  get  from  Monsieur  and 
Madame  Moreau  !  "  cried  Leon  de  Lora. 

"  The  little  idiot !  "said  Georges.  "  But  for  him  the  count 
would  have  thought  it  all  very  good  fun.  Well,  well,  it 
is  a  useful  lesson,  and  if  I  am  caught  chattering  in  a  coach 
again " 

"  Oh,  it  is  a  stupid  thing  to  do,"  said  Joseph  Bridau. 

"And  vulgar,  too,"  said  Mistigris.  "Keep  your  tongue 
to  clean  your  teeth." 

While  the  business  of  the  farm  was  being  discussed  between 
Monsieur  Margueron  and  the  Comtede  Serizy,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  the  three  notaries,  and  in  the  presence  of  Mons.  de 
Reybert,  Moreau  was  slowly  making  his  way  home.  He  went 


318  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

in  without  looking  about  him,  and  sat  down  on  a  sofa  in  the 
drawing-room,  while  Oscar  Husson  crept  into  a  corner  out  of 
sight,  so  terrified  was  he  by  the  steward's  white  face. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  Estelle,  coming  in,  fairly  tired  out 
by  all  she  had  had  to  do,  "  what  is  the  matter?  " 

"  My  dear,  we  are  ruined,  lost  beyond  redemption.  I  am 
no  longer  land  steward  of  Presles  !  The  count  has  withdrawn 
his  confidence." 

"And  what  has  caused " 

"Old  Leger,  who  was  in  Pierrotin's  chaise, let  out  all  about 
the  farm  of  les  Moulineaux ;  but  it  is  not  that  which  has  cut  me 
off  for  ever  from  his  favor " 

"What  then?" 

"Oscar  spoke  ill  of  the  countess,  and  talked  of  monseig- 
neur's  ailments " 

"Oscar?"  cried  Madame  Moreau.  "You  are  punished 
by  your  own  act !  A  pretty  viper  you  have  nursed  in  your 
bosom.  How  often  have  I  told  you " 

"That  will  do,"  said  Moreau  hoarsely. 

At  this  instant  Estelle  and  her  husband  detected  Oscar 
huddled  in  a  corner.  Moreau  pounced  on  the  luckless  boy 
like  a  kite  on  its  prey,  seized  him  by  the  collar  of  his  olive- 
green  coat,  and  forcibly  dragged  him  into  the  daylight  of  a 
window. 

"  Speak  !  What  did  you  say  to  monseigneur  in  the  coach? 
What  devil  loosened  your  tongue,  when  you  always  stand 
moonstruck  if  I  ask  you  a  question?  What  did  you  do  it 
for  ?  "  said  the  steward  with  terrific  violence. 

Oscar,  too  much  scared  for  tears,  kept  silence,  as  motionless 
as  a  statue. 

"  Come  and  ask  his  excellency's  pardon  !  "  said  Moreau. 

"As  if  his  excellency  cared  about  a  vermin  like  him  !  " 
shrieked  Estelle  in  a  fury. 

"  Come — come  to  the  castle  !  "  Moreau  repeated. 

Oscar  collapsed,  a  lifeless  heap  on  the  floor. 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  319 

"  Will  you  come,  I  say  ?  "  said  Moreau,  his  rage  increasing 
every  moment. 

"  No,  no;  have  pity !  "  cried  Oscar,  who  could  not  face  a 
punishment  worse  than  death. 

Moreau  took  the  boy  by  the  collar  and  dragged  him  like  a 
corpse  across  the  courtyard,  which  rang  with  the  boy's  cries 
and  sobsj  he  hauled  him  up  the  steps  and  flung  him,  howling 
and  as  rigid  as  a  post,  into  the  drawing-room  at  the  feet  of  the 
count,  who,  having  settled  for  the  purchase  of  les  Moulineaux, 
was  just  passing  into  the  dining-room  with  his  friends. 

"  On  your  knees,  on  your  knees,  wretched  boy.  Ask  par- 
don of  the  man  who  has  fed  your  mind  by  getting  you  a 
scholarship  at  college,"  cried  Moreau. 

Oscar  lay  with  his  face  on  the  ground,  foaming  with  rage. 
Everybody  was  startled.  Moreau,  quite  beside  himself,  was 
purple  in  the  face  from  the  rush  of  blood  to  his  head. 

"  This  boy  is  mere  vanity,"  said  the  count,  after  waiting  in 
vain  for  Oscar's  apology.  "  Pride  can  humble  itself,  for 
there  is  dignity  in  some  self-humiliation.  I  am  afraid  you  will 
never  make  anything  of  this  fellow." 

And  the  Minister  passed  on. 

Moreau  led  Oscar  away  and  back  to  his  own  house. 

While  the  horses  were  being  harnessed  to  the  traveling 
chaise,  he  wrote  the  following  letter  to  Madame  Clapart : 

"Oscar,  my  dear,  has  brought  me  to  ruin.  In  the  course 
of  his  journey  in  Pierrotin's  chaise  this  morning  he  spoke  of 
the  flirtations  of  Madame  la  Comtesse  to  his  excellency  him- 
self, who  was  traveling  incognito,  and  told  the  count  his  own 
secrets  as  to  the  skin  disease  brought  on  by  long  nights  of 
hard  work  in  his  various  high  offices.  After  dismissing  me 
from  my  place,  the  count  desired  me  not  to  allow  Oscar  to 
sleep  at  Presles,  but  to  send  him  home.  In  obedience  to  his 
orders  I  am  having  my  horses  put  to  my  wife's  carriage,  and 
Brochon,  my  groom,  will  take  the  little  wretch  to  you. 


320  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

"  My  wife  and  I  are  in  a  state  of  despair,  which  you  may 
imagine,  but  which  I  cannot  attempt  to  describe.  I  will  come 
to  see  you  in  a  few  days,  for  I  must  make  my  plans.  I  have 
three  children ;  I  must  think  of  the  future,  and  I  do  not  yet 
know  what  to  decide  on,  for  I  am  determined  to  show  the 
count  the  value  of  seventeen  years  of  the  life  of  such  a  man 
as  I.  I  have  two  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  francs,  and  I 
mean  to  acquire  such  a  fortune  as  will  allow  me  to  be,  some 
day,  not  much  less  than  his  excellency's  equal.  At  this  in- 
stant I  feel  that  I  could  remove  mountains  and  conquer  insur- 
mountable difficulties.  What  a  lever  is  such  a  humiliating 
scene ! 

"Whose  blood  can  Oscar  have  in  his  veins?  I  cannot 
compliment  you  on  your  son ;  his  behavior  is  that  of  an  owl. 
At  this  moment  of  writing  he  has  not  yet  uttered  a  word  in 
reply  to  my  questions  and  my  wife's.  Is  he  becoming  idiotic, 
or  is  he  idiotic  already  ?  My  dear  friend,  did  you  not  give 
him  due  injunctions  before  he  started  ?  How  much  misfor- 
tune you  would  have  spared  me  by  coming  with  him,  as  I 
begged  you.  If  you  were  afraid  of  Estelle,  you  could  have 
stayed  at  Moisselles.  However,  it  is  all  over  now.  Farewell 
till  we  meet,  soon. 

"Your  faithful  friend  and  servant, 

"MOREAU." 

At  eight  o'clock  that  evening  Madame  Clapart  had  come 
in  from  a  little  walk  with  her  husband,  and  sat  knitting  stock- 
ings for  Oscar  by  the  light  of  a  single  dip.  Monsieur  Clapart 
was  expecting  a  friend  named  Poiret,  who  sometimes  came  in 
for  a  game  of  dominoes,  for  he  never  trusted  himself  to  spend 
an  evening  in  a  cafe.  In  spite  of  temperance,  enforced  on 
him  by  his  narrow  means,  Clapart  could  not  have  answered 
for  his  abstinence  when  in  the  midst  of  food  and  drink,  and 
surrounded  by  other  men,  whose  laughter  might  have  nettled 
him. 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  321 

"  I  am  afraid  Poiret  may  have  been  and  gone,"  said  he  to 
his  wife. 

"The  lodge-keeper  would  have  told  us,  my  dear,"  replied 
his  wife. 

"She  may  have  forgotten." 

"  Why  should  she  forget  ?  " 

"  It  would  not  be  the  first  time  she  has  forgotten  things 
that  concerts  us;  God  knows,  anything  is  good  enough  for 
people  who  have  no  servants  !  " 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  poor  woman,  to  change  the  subject 
and  escape  her  husband's  pin-stabs.  "  Oscar  is  at  Presles  by 
this  time ;  he  will  be  very  happy  in  that  beautiful  place,  that 
fine  park " 

"Oh,  yes,  you  expect  great  things!"  retorted  Clapart. 
"  He  will  make  hay  there  with  a  vengeance  !  " 

"Will  you  never  cease  to  be  spiteful  to  that  poor  boy? 
What  harm  has  he  done  you  ?  Dear  heaven  !  if  ever  we  are 
in  easy  circumstances  we  shall  owe  it  to  him  perhaps,  for  he 
has  a  good  heart." 

"  Our  bones  will  be  gelatine  long  before  that  boy  succeeds 
in  the  world!"  said  Clapart.  "And  he  will  have  altered 
very  considerably!  Why,  you  don't  know  your  own  boy; 
he  is  a  braggart,  a  liar,  lazy,  incapable " 

"  Supposing  you  were  to  go  to  fetch  Poiret,"  said  the  hap- 
less mother,  struck  to  the  heart  by  the  diatribe  she  had  brought 
down  on  her  own  head. 

"  A  boy  who  never  took  a  prize  at  school !  "  added  Clapart. 

In  the  eyes  of  the  commoner  sort,  bringing  home  prizes 
from  school  is  positive  proof  of  future  success  in  life. 

"Did  you  ever  take  a  prize?"  retorted  his  wife.  "And 
Oscar  got  the  fourth  accessit  (second-premium)  in  philoso- 
phy?" 

This  speech  reduced  Clapart  to  silence  for  a  moment. 

"And  beside,"  he  presently  went  on,  "Madame  Moreau 
must  love  him  as  she  loves  a  nail — you  know  where  ;  she  will 
21 


322  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

try  to  set  her  husband  against  him.  Oscar  steward  at  Presles ! 
Why,  he  must  thoroughly  understand  land-surveying  and  agri- 
culture  " 

"  He  can  learn." 

"  He  !  Never  !  I  bet  you  that  if  he  got  a  place  there  he 
would  not  be  in  it  a  week  before  he  had  done  something 
clumsy,  and  was  packed  off  by  the  Comte  de  Serizy " 

"  Good  heavens  !  How  can  you  be  so  vicious  about  the 
future  prospects  of  a  poor  boy,  lull  of  good  points,  as  sweet  as 
an  angel,  and  incapable  of  doing  an  ill  turn  to  any  living 
soul?" 

At  this  moment  the  cracking  of  a  post-boy's  whip  and  the 
clatter  of  a  chaise  at  top  speed,  with  the  hoofs  of  horses  pulled 
up  sharply  at  the  outer  gate,  had  roused  the  whole  street. 
Clapart,  hearing  every  window  flung  open,  went  out  on  the 
landing. 

"  Oscar,  sent  back  by  post !  "  cried  he  in  a  tone  in  which 
his  satisfaction  gave  way  to  genuine  alarm. 

"Good  God!  what  can  have  happened?"  said  the  poor 
mother,  trembling  as  a  leaf  is  shaken  by  an  autumn  wind. 

Brochon  came  upstairs,  followed  by  Oscar  and  Poiret. 

"Good  heavens,  what  has  happened?"  repeated  she,  ap- 
pealing to  the  groom. 

"  I  don't  know,  but  Monsieur  Moreau  is  no  longer  steward 
of  Presles,  and  they  say  it  is  your  son's  doing,  and  monseig- 
neur  has  ordered  him  home  again.  However,  here  is  a  letter 
from  poor  Monsieur  Moreau,  who  is  so  altered,  madame,  it  is 
dreadful  to  see." 

"  Clapart,  a  glass  of  wine  for  the  post-boy  and  one  for 
monsieur,"  said  his  wife,  who  dropped  into  an  armchair  and 
read  the  terrible  letter.  "Oscar,"  she  went  on,  dragging 
herself  to  her  bed,  "  you  want  to  kill  your  mother!  After  all 

I  said  to  you  this  morning "  But  Madame  Clapart  did 

not  finish  her  sentence;  she  fainted  with  misery. 

Oscar  remained  standing,  speechless.     Madame  Clapart,  as 


A  START  IN  LIFE.  323 

she  recovered  her  senses,  heard  her  husband  saying  to  the  boy 
as  he  shook  him  by  the  arm — 

"Will  you  speak?" 

"  Go  to  bed  at  once,  sir,"  said  she  to  her  son.  "  And  leave 
him  in  peace,  Monsieur  Clapart ;  do  not  drive  him  out  of  his 
wits,  for  he  is  dreadfully  altered  !  " 

Oscar  did  not  hear  his  mother's  remark;  he  had  made  for 
bed  the  instant  he  was  told. 

Those  who  have  any  recollection  of  their  own  boyhood  will 
not  be  surprised  to  hear  that,  after  a  day  or  so  full  of  events 
and  agitations,  Oscar  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just  in  spite  of  the 
enormity  of  his  sins.  Nay,  next  day  he  did  not  find  the  whole 
face  of  nature  so  much  changed  as  he  expected,  and  was 
astonished  to  find  that  he  was  hungry,  after  regarding  himself 
the  day  before  as  unworthy  to  live.  He  had  suffered  only  in 
mind,  and  at  that  age  mental  impressions  succeed  each  other 
so  rapidly  that  each  wipes  out  the  last,  however  deep  it  may 
have  seemed. 

Hence  corporal  punishment,  though  philanthropists  have 
made  a  strong  stand  against  it  of  late  years,  is  in  some  cases 
necessary  for  children  ;  also,  it  is  perfectly  natural,  for  Nature 
herself  has  no  other  means  but  the  infliction  of  pain  to  pro- 
duce a  lasting  impression  of  her  lessons.  If  to  give  weight  to 
the  shame,  unhappily  too  transient,  which  had  overwhelmed 
Oscar,  the  steward  had  given  him  a  sound  thrashing,  the 
lesson  might  have  been  effectual.  The  discernment  needed 
for  the  proper  infliction  of  such  corrections  is  the  chief  argu- 
ment against  their  use ;  for  Nature  never  makes  a  mistake, 
while  the  teacher  must  often  blunder. 

Madame  Clapart  took  care  to  send  her  husband  out  next 
morning  to  have  her  son  to  herself.  She  was  in  a  pitiable 
condition.  Her  eyes  red  with  weeping,  her  face  worn  by  a 
sleepless  night,  her  voice  broken  ;  everything  in  her  seemed 
to  sue  for  mercy  by  the  signs  of  such  grief  as  she  could  not 
have  endured  a  second  time.  When  Oscar  entered  the  room, 


324  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

she  beckoned  to  him  to  sit  down  by  her,  and  in  a  mild  but  feel- 
ing voice  reminded  him  of  all  the  kindness  done  them  by  the 
steward  of  Presles.  She  explained  to  Oscar  that  for  the  last 
six  years  especially  she  had  lived  on  Moreau's  ingenious 
charity.  Monsieur  Clapart's  appointment,  which  they  owed, 
no  less  than  Oscar's  scholarship,  to  the  Comte  de  Serizy,  he 
would  some  day  cease  to  hold.  Clapart  could  not  claim  a 
pension,  not  having  served  long  enough  either  in  the  Treasury 
or  the  city  to  ask  for  one.  And  when  Monsieur  Clapart 
should  be  shelved,  what  was  to  become  of  them  ? 

"I,"  she  said,  "by  becoming  a  sick-nurse  or  taking  a 
place  as  housekeeper  in  some  gentleman's  house,  could  make 
my  living  and  keep  Monsieur  Clapart ;  but  what  would  be- 
come of  you  ?  You  have  no  fortune,  and  you  must  work  for 
your  living.  There  are  but  four  openings  for  lads  like  you — 
trade,  the  civil  service,  the  liberal  professions,  and  military 
service.  A  young  man  who  has  no  capital  must  contribute 
faithful  service  and  brains;  but  great  discretion  is  needed  in 
business,  and  your  behavior  yesterday  makes  your  success  very 
doubtful.  For  an.  official  career  you  have  to  begin,  for  years 
perhaps,  as  a  supernumerary,  and  need  interest  to  back  you ; 
and  you  have  alienated  the  only  protector  we  ever  had — a 
man  high  in  power.  And,  beside,  even  if  you  were  blest  with 
the  exceptional  gifts  which  enable  a  yoting  man  to  rise  rapidly, 
either  in  business  or  in  an  official  position,  where  are  we  to 
find  the  money  for  food  and  clothing  while  you  are  learning 
your  work?" 

And  here  his  mother,  like  all  women,  went  off  into  wordy 
lamentations.  What  could  she  do  now  that  she  was  deprived 
of  the  gifts  of  produce  which  Moreau  was  able  to  send  her 
while  managing  Presles?  Oscar  had  overthrown  his  best 
friend. 

Next  to  trade  and  office  work,  of  which  her  son  need  not 
even  think,  came  the  legal  profession  as  a  notary,  a  pleader, 
an  attorney,  or  a  sheriff.  But  then  he  must  study  law  for 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  326 

three  years  at  least,  and  pay  heavy  fees  for  his  admission,  his 
examinations,  his  theses,  and  diploma;  the  number  of  com- 
petitors was  so  great  that  superior  talent  was  indispensable, 
and  how  was  he  to  live  ?  That  was  the  constantly  recurring 
question. 

"Oscar,"  she  said  in  conclusion,  "all  my  pride,  all  my 
li'fe  were  centred  in  you.  I  could  bear  to  look  forward  to  an 
old  age  of  poverty,  for  I  kept  my  eyes  on  you ;  I  saw  you 
entering  on  a  prosperous  career,  and  succeeding  in  it.  That 
hope  has  given  me  courage  to  endure  the  privations  I  have 
gone  through  during  the  last  six  years  to  keep  you  at  school, 
for  it  has  cost  seven  or  eight  hundred  francs  a  year  beside  the 
half-scholarship.  Now  that  my  hopes  are  crushed,  I  dread  to 
think  of  your  future  fate.  I  must  not  spend  a  sou  of  Mon- 
sieur Clapart's  salary  on  my  own  son. 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  You  are  not  a  good  enough 
mathematician  to  pass  into  a  specialist  college  ;  and,  beside, 
where  could  I  find  the  three  thousand  francs  a  year  for  your 
training?  This  is  life,  my  dear  child  !  Well,  you  are  eigh- 
teen, and  a  strong  lad — enlist  as  a  soldier ;  it  is  the  only  way 
you  can  make  a  living." 

Oscar  as  yet  knew  nothing  of  life.  Like  all  boys  who  have 
been  brought  up  in  ignorance  of  the  poverty  at  home,  he  had 
no  idea  of  the  need  to  work  for  his  living ;  the  word  trade 
conveyed  no  idea  to  his  mind ;  and  the  words  Government 
office  did  not  mean  much,  for  he  knew  nothing  of  the  work. 
He  listened  with  a  look  of  submission,  which  he  tried  to 
make  penitential,  but  his  mother's  remonstrances  were  lost  in 
air.  However,  at  the  idea  of  being  a  soldier,  and  on  seeing 
the  tears  in  his  mother's  eyes,  the  boy,  too,  was  ready  to 
weep.  As  soon  as  Madame  Clapart  saw  the  drops  on  her 
boy's  cheeks,  she  was  quite  disarmed ;  and,  like  all  mothers 
in  a  similar  position,  she  fell  back  on  the  generalities  which 
wind  up  this  sort  of  attack,  in  which  they  suffer  all  their  own 
sorrows  and  their  children's  at  the  same  time. 


326  A   START  IN  LIFE, 

"  Come,  Oscar,  promise  me  to  be  more  cautious  for  the 
future,  not  to  blurt  out  whatever  comes  uppermost,  to  moderate 
your  absurd  conceit "  and  so  on. 

Oscar  was  ready  to  promise  all  his  mother  asked,  and,  press- 
ing him  gently  to  her  heart,  Madame  Clapart  ended  by  em- 
bracing him  to  comfort  him  for  the  scolding  he  had  had. 

"Now,"  said  she,  "you  will  listen  to  your  mother  and 
follow  her  advice,  for  a  mother  can  give  her  son  none  but 
good  advice.  We  will  go  and  see  your  Uncle  Cardot.  He  is 
our  last  hope.  Cardot  owed  a  great  deal  to  your  father,  who, 
by  allowing  him  to  marry  his  sister,  with  what  was  then  an 
immense  marriage  portion,  enabled  him  to  make  a  large 
fortune  in  silk.  I  fancy  he  would  place  you  with  Monsieur 
Camusot,  his  son-in-law  and  successor,  in  the  Rue  des  Bour- 
donnais. 

"  Still,  your  Uncle  Cardot  has  four  children  of  his  own. 
He  made  over  his  store,  the  Cocon  d'Or  (Golden  Cocoon), 
to  his  eldest  daughter,  Madame  Camusot.  Though  Camusot 
has  millions,  there  are  the  four  children,  by  two  wives,  and 
he  hardly  knows  of  our  existence.  Marianne,  his  second 
girl,  married  Monsieur  Protez,  of  Protez  and  Chiffreville. 
He  paid  four  hundred  thousand  francs  to  put  his  eldest  son  in 
business  as  a  notary ;  and  he  has  just  invested  for  his  second 
son  Joseph  as  a  partner  in  the  business  of  Matifat,  drug 
importers.  Thus  your  Uncle  Cardot  may  very  well  not  choose 
to  be  troubled  about  you,  whom  he  sees  but  four  times  a  year. 
He  has  never  been  to  call  on  me  here ;  but  he  could  come 
to  see  me  when  I  was  in  Madame  Mtrc* s  household,  to  be 
allowed  to  supply  silks  to  their  Imperial  highnesses,  and  the 
Emperor,  and  the  grandees  at  Court.  And  now  the  Camusots 
are  Ultras  !  Camusot's  eldest  son,  by  his  first  wife,  married 
the  daughter  of  a  gentleman  usher  to  the  King  !  Well,  when 
the  world  stoops  it  grows  hunchbacked.  And,  after  all,  it 
is  a  good  business;  the  Cocon  d'Or  has  the  custom  of  the 
Court  under  the  Bourbons  as  it  had  under  the  Emperor. 


A    START  IN  LIFE.  327 

"To-morrow  we  will  go  to  see  your  Uncle  Cardot,  and  I 
hope  you  will  contrive  to  behave ;  for,  as  I  tell  you,  in  him  is 
our  last  hope." 

Monsieur  Jean-Jerome-Severin  Cardot  had  lost  his  second 
wife  six  years  since — Mademoiselle  Husson — on  whom,  in  the 
days  of  his  glory,  the  contractor  had  bestowed  a  marriage 
portion  of  a  hundred  thousand  francs  in  hard  cash.     Cardot, 
the  head-clerk  of  the  Cocon  d'Or,  one  of  the  old-established 
Paris  houses,  had  bought  the  business  in  1793  when  its  owners 
were  ruined   by  the  maximum,  and   Mademoiselle  Husson's 
money  to  back  him  had  enabled  him  to  make  an  almost  colos- 
sal  fortune  in  ten    years.     To  provide   handsomely  for   his 
children,   he  had  very  ingeniously   invested    three   hundred 
thousand  francs  in  annuities  for  himself  and  his  wife,  which 
brought  him  in  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year.     The  rest  of 
his  capital   he  divided  into  three  portions  of  four  hundred 
thousand  francs  for  his  younger  children,  and  the  store  was 
taken  as  representing  that  sum  by  Camusot  when  he  married 
the  eldest  girl.     Thus  the  old   fellow,  now  nearly  seventy, 
could  dispose  of  his   thirty  thousand   francs  a  year  without 
damaging  his  children's  interests ;  they  were  all  well  married, 
and  no  avaricious  hopes  could  interfere  with  their  filial  affec- 
tion. 

Uncle  Cardot  lived  at  Belleville  in  one  of  the  first  houses 
just  above  la  Courtille.  He  rented  a  second  floor,  whence 
there  was  a  fine  view  over  the  Seine  valley,  an  apartment  for 
which  he  paid  a  thousand  francs  a  year,  facing  south,  with  the 
exclusive  enjoyment  of  a  large  garden  ;  thus  he  never  troubled 
himself  about  the  three  or  four  other  families  inhabiting  the 
spacious  country  house.  Secure,  by  a  long  lease,  of  ending 
his  days  there,  he  lived  rather  shabbily,  waited  on  by  his  old 
cook  and  by  a  maid  who  had  been  attached  to  his  late  wife, 
both  of  whom  looked  forward  to  an  annuity  of  some  six  hun- 
dred francs  at  his  death,  and  consequently  did  not  rob  him. 


328  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

These  two  women  took  incredible  care  of  their  master,  and 
with  all  the  more  devotion  since  no  one  could  be  less  fractious 
or  fidgety  than  he. 

The  rooms,  furnished  by  the  late  Madame  Cardot,  had  re- 
mained unaltered  for  six  years,  and  the  old  man  was  quite 
content ;  he  did  not  spend  a  thousand  crowns  a  year  there, 
for  he  dined  out  in  Paris  five  days  a  week,  and  came  home  at 
midnight  in  a  private  fly  that  he  took  at  the  Barriere  de  la 
Courtille.  They  had  hardly  anything  to  do  beyond  provid- 
ing him  with  breakfast.  The  old  man  breakfasted  at  eleven 
o'clock,  then  he  dressed  and  scented  himself  and  went  to 
Paris.  A  man  usually  gives  notice  when  he  means  to  dine 
out ;  Monsieur  Cardot  gave  notice  when  he  was  to  dine  at 
home. 

This  little  old  gentleman,  plump,  rosy,  square,  and  hearty, 
was  always  as  neat  as  a  pin,  as  the  saying  goes ;  that  is  to  say, 
always  in  black  silk  stockings,  corded  silk  knee-breeches,  a 
white  marcella  vest,  dazzlingly  white  linen,  and  a  dark  blue 
coat ;  he  wore  violet  silk  gloves,  gold  buckles  to  his  shoes 
and  breeches,  a  touch  of  powder  on  his  hair,  and  a  small 
queue  tied  with  black  ribbon.  His  face  was  noticeable  for 
the  thick,  bushy  eyebrows,  beneath  which  sparkled  his  gray 
eyes,  and  a  large  squarely-cut  nose  that  made  him  look  like 
some  venerable  prebendary.  This  countenance  did  not  belie 
the  man.  Old  Cardot  was,  in  fact,  one  of  the  race  of  frisky 
"Gerontes"  who  are  disappearing  day  by  day,  and  who 
played  the  part  of  Turcaret  in  all  the  romances  and  comedies 
of  the  eighteenth  century.  Uncle  Cardot  would  speak  to  a 
woman  as  "  Lady  fair; "  he  would  take  home  any  woman  in 
a  coach  who  had  no  other  protector ;  he  was  "  theirs  to  com- 
mand," to  use  his  own  expression,  with  a  chivalrous  flourish. 
His  calm  face  and  snowy  hair  were  the  adjuncts  of  an  old  age 
wholly  devoted  to  pleasure.  Among  men  he  boldly  professed 
Epicureanism,  and  allowed  himself  rather  a  broad  style  of 
jokes.  He  had  made  no  objection  when  his  son-in-law  Carm> 


A  START  IN  LIFE.  329 

sot  attached  himself  to  Coralie,  the  fascinating  actress,  for 
he  was,  in  secret,  the  Maecenas  of  Mademoiselle  Florentine,* 
leading  dancer  at  the  Gaite  theatre. 

Still,  nothing  appeared  on  the  surface,  or  in  his  evident 
conduct,  to  tell  tales  of  these  opinions  and  this  mode  of  life. 
Uncle  Cardot,  grave  and  polite,  was  supposed  to  be  almost 
cold,  such  a  display  did  he  make  of  the  proprieties,  and  even 
a  bigot  would  have  called  him  a  hypocrite.  This  worthy 
gentleman  particularly  detested  the  priesthood,  he  was  one  of 
the  large  body  of  silly  people  who  subscribe  to  the  "  Consti- 
tutionnel,"  and  was  much  exercised  about  the  refusal  of  rights 
of  burial.  He  adored  Voltaire,  though  his  preference  as  a 
matter  of  taste  was  for  Piron,  Verde,  and  Colle.  Of  course, 
he  admired  Beranger,  of  whom  he  spoke  ingeniously  as  the 
"high-priest  of  the  religion  of  Lisette."  His  daughters, 
Madame  Camusot  and  Madame  Protez,  and  his  two  sons  would 
indeed  have  been  knocked  flat,  to  use  a  vulgar  phrase,  if  any 
one  had  told  them  what  their  father  meant  by  singing  "La 
Mere  Godichon." 

The  shrewd  old  man  had  never  told  his  children  of  his 
annuity;  and  they,  seeing  him  live  so  poorly,  all  believed 
that  he  had  stripped  himself  of  his  fortune  for  them,  and 
overwhelmed  him  with  care  and  affection.  And  he  would 
sometimes  say  to  his  sons :  "  Do  not  lose  your  money,  for  I 
have  none  to  leave  you."  Camusot,  who  was  a  man  after  his 
own  heart,  and  whom  he  liked  well  enough  to  allow  him  to 
join  his  little  parties,  was  the  only  one  who  knew  of  his  an- 
nuity of  thirty  thousand  francs.  Camusot  highly  applauded 
the  old  fellow's  philosophy,  thinking  that  after  providing  so 
liberally  for  his  children  and  doing  his  duty  so  thoroughly,  he 
had  a  right  to  end  his  days  jovially. 

"  You  see,  my  dear  fellow,"  the  old  master  of  the  Cocon 
d'Or  would   say   to  his  son-in-law,  "  I  might  have  married 
again,  no  doubt,  and  a  young  wife  would  have  had  children. 
*  See  "  A  Provincial  at  Paris." 


330  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

Oh,  yes,  I  should  have  had  children,  I  was  at  an  age  when 
men  always  have  children.  Well,  Florentine  does  not  cost 
me  so  much  as  a  wife,  she  never  bores  me,  she  will  not  plague 
me  with  children,  and  will  not  make  a  hole  in  your  fortune." 
And  Camusot  discovered  in  old  Cardot  an  admirable  feeling 
for  the  Family,  regarding  him  as  a  perfect  father-in-law.  "  He 
succeeds,"  he  would  say,  "in  reconciling  the  interests  of  his 
children  with  the  pleasures  it  is  natural  to  indulge  in  in  old 
age  after  having  gone  through  all  the  anxieties  of  business." 

Neither  the  Cardots,  nor  the  Camusots,  nor  the  Protez  sus- 
pected what  the  existence  was  of  their  old  aunt,  Madame  Cla- 
part.  The  communications  had  always  been  restricted  to 
sending  formal  letters  on  the  occasions  of  a  death  or  a  mar- 
riage, and  visiting  cards  on  New  Year's  Day.  Madame  Cla- 
part  was  too  proud  to  sacrifice  her  feelings  for  anything  but 
her  Oscar's  interests,  and  acted  under  the  influence  of  her  re- 
gard for  Moreau,  the  only  person  who  had  remained  faithful 
to  her  in  misfortune.  She  had  never  wearied  old  Cardot  by 
her  presence  or  her  importunities,  but  she  had  clung  to  him  as 
to  a  hope.  She  called  on  him  once  a  quarter,  and  talked  to 
him  of  Oscar  Husson,  the  nephew  of  the  late  respected  Mad- 
ame Cardot,  taking  the  lad  to  see  Uncle  Cardot  three  times  a 
year,  in  the  holidays.  On  each  occasion  the  old  man  took 
Oscar  to  dine  at  the  Cadran  bleu  (the  Blue  Dial),  and  to  the 
Gaite  in  the  evening,  taking  him  home  afterward  to  the  Rue 
de  la  Cerisaie.  On  one  occasion,  after  giving  him  a  new  suit 
of  clothes,  he  had  made  him  a  present  of  the  silver  mug  and 
spoon  and  fork  required  as  part  of  every  boarding-school 
boy's  equipment. 

Oscar's  mother  had  tried  to  convince  the  old  man  that 
Oscar  was  very  fond  of  him,  and  she  was  always  talking  of  the 
silver  mug  and  spoon  and  the  beautiful  suit,  of  which  nothing 
now  survived  but  the  vest.  But  these  little  insinuating  atten- 
tions did  Oscar  more  harm  than  good  with  so  cunning  an  old 
fox  as  Uncle  Cardot.  Old  Cardot  had  not  been  devoted  to 


A  START  IN  LIFE.  331 

his  late  lamented,  a  bony  red-haired  woman  ;  also  he  knew  the 
circumstances  of  the  deceased  Husson's  marriage  to  Oscar's 
mother;  and  without  looking  down  on  her  in  any  way,  he 
knew  that  Oscar  had  been  born  after  his  father's  death,  so  his 
poor  nephew  seemed  an  absolute  alien  to  the  Cardot  family. 
Unable  to  foresee  disaster,  Oscar's  mother  had  not  made  up 
for  this  lack  of  natural  ties  between  the  boy  and  his  uncle,  and 
had  not  succeeded  in  implanting  in  the  old  merchant  any 
liking  for  her  boy  in  his  earliest  youth.  Like  all  women  who 
are  absorbed  in  the  one  idea  of  motherhocd,  Madame  Clapart 
could  not  put  herself  in  Uncle  Cardot's  place  ;  she  thought 
he  ought  to  be  deeply  interested  in  such  a  charming  boy, 
whose  name,  too,  was  that  of  the  late  Madame  Cardot. 

"  Monsieur,  here  is  the  mother  of  your  nephew  Oscar,"  said 
the  maid  to  Monsieur  Cardot,  who  was  airing  himself  in  the 
garden  before  breakfast,  after  being  shaved  and  having  his 
head  dressed  by  the  barber. 

"  Good-morning,  lady  fair,"  said  the  old  silk-merchant, 
bowing  to  Madame  Clapart,  while  he  wrapped  his  white  quilted 
dressing-gown  across  him.  "Ah,  ha  !  your  youngster  is  grow- 
ing apace,"  he  added,  pulling  Oscar  by  the  ear. 

"  He  has  finished  his  schooling,  and  he  was  very  sorry  that 
his  dear  uncle  was  not  present  at  the  distribution  of  prizes  at 
the  College  Henri  IV.,  for  he  was  named.  The  name  of  Hus- 
son,  of  which,  let  us  hope,  he  may  prove  worthy,  was  honor- 
ably mentioned." 

"  The  deuce  it  was  !  "  said  the  little  man,  stopping  short. 
He  was  walking  with  Madame  Clapart  and  Oscar  on  a  terrace 
where  there  were  orange-trees,  myrtles,  and  pomegranate 
shrubs.  "And  what  did  he  get?" 

"The  fourth  accessit*  in  philosophy,"  said  the  mother  tri- 
umphantly. 

"Oh,  ho.  He  has  some  way  to  go  yet  to  make  up  for  lost 
time,"  cried  Uncle  Cardot.  "  To  end  with  an  accessit—\s> 
*  Second  best  premium. 


332  A  START  IN  LIFE. 

not  the  treasure  of  Peru.  You  will  breakfast  with  me  ? " 
said  he. 

"We  are  at  your  commands,"  replied  Madame  Clapart. 
"  Oh,  my  dear  Monsieur  Cardot,  what  a  comfort  it  is  to  a 
father  and  mother  when  their  children  make  a  good  start  in 
life.  From  that  point  of  view,  as  indeed  from  every  other," 
she  put  in,  correcting  herself,  "you  are  one  of  the  happiest 
fathers  I  know.  In  the  hands  of  your  admirable  son-in-law 
and  your  amiable  daughter,  the  Cocon  d'Or  is  still  the  best 
store  of  the  kind  in  Paris.  Your  eldest  son  has  been  for  years 
as  a  notary  at  the  head  of  the  best-known  business  in  Paris, 
and  he  married  a  rich  woman.  Your  youngest  is  a  partner  in 
a  first-rate  druggist's  business.  And  you  have  the  sweetest 
grandchildren.  You  are  the  head  of  four  flourishing  familes. 
Oscar,  leave  us  ;  go  and  walk  round  the  garden,  and  do  not 
touch  the  flowers." 

"Why,  he  is  eighteen  !  "  exclaimed  Uncle  Cardot,  smiling 
at  this  injunction,  as  though  Oscar  was  a  child  ! 

"Alas !  indeed  he  is,  my  dear  Monsieur  Cardot ;  and  after 
bringing  him  up  to  that  age  neither  crooked  nor  bandy,  sound 
in  mind  and  body,  after  sacrificing  everything  to  give  him  an 
education,  it  would  be  hard  indeed  not  to  see  him  start  on  the 
way  to  fortune." 

"Well,  Monsieur  Moreau,  who  got  you  his  half-scholarship 
at  the  College  Henri  IV.,  will  start  him  in  the  right  road," 
said  Uncle  Cardot,  hiding  his  hypocrisy  under  an  affectation 
of  bluntness. 

"Monsieur  Moreau  may  die,"  said  she.  "Beside,  he  has 
quarreled  beyond  remedy  with  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Serizy, 
his  patron." 

"The  deuce  he  has  !  Listen,  madame,  I  see  what  you  are 
coming  to " 

"  No,  monsieur,"  said  Oscar's  mother,  cutting  the  old  man 
short;  while  he,  out  of  respect  for  a  "lady  fair,"  controlled 
the  impulse  of  annoyance  at  being  interrupted.  "Alas  !  you 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  333 

can  know  nothing  of  the  anguish  of  a  mother  who  for  seven 
years  has  been  obliged  to  take  six  hundred  francs  a  year  out 
of  her  husband's  salary  of  eighteen  hundred.  Yes,  monsieur, 
that  is  our  whole  income.  So  what  can  I  do  for  my  Oscar? 
Monsieur  Clapart  so  intensely  hates  the  poor  boy  that  I  really 
cannot  keep  him  at  home.  What  can  a  poor  woman  do  under 
such  circumstances  but  come  to  consult  the  only  relative  her 
boy  has  under  heaven  !  " 

"You  did  quite  right,"  replied  Monsieur  Cardot,  "you 
never  said  anything  of  all  this  before — 

"Indeed,  monsieur,"  replied  Madame  Clapart  with  pride, 
"  you  are  the  last  person  to  whom  I  would  confess  the  depth 
of  my  poverty.  It  is  all  my  own  fault ;  I  married  a  man 
whose  incapacity  is  beyond  belief.  Oh  !  I  am  a  most  miser- 
able woman." 

"Listen,  madame,"  said  the  little  old  man  gravely.  "Do 
not  cry.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  it  pains  me  to  see  a  fair 
lady  in  tears.  After  all,  your  boy's  name  is  Husson ;  and  if 
the  dear  departed  were  alive,  she  would  do  something  for  the 
sake  of  her  father's  and  brother's  name— 

"She  truly  loved  her  brother!  "  cried  Oscar's  mother. 

"  But  all  my  fortune  is  divided  among  my  children,  who 
have  nothing  further  to  expect  from  me,"  the  old  man  went 
on.  "I  divided  the  two  million  francs  I  had  among  them; 
I  wished  to  see  them  happy  in  my  lifetime.  I  kept  nothing 
for  myself  but  an  annuity,  and  at  my  time  of  life  a  man  clings 
to  his  habits.  Do  you  know  what  you  must  do  with  this 
youngster?"  said  he,  calling  back  Oscar  and  taking  him  by 
the  arm.  "Put  him  to  study  law,  I  will  pay  for  his  matricu- 
lation and  preliminary  fees.  Place  him  with  an  attorney; 
let  him  learn  all  the  tricks  of  the  trade ;  if  he  does  well,  and 
gets  on  and  likes  the  work,  and  if  I  am  still  alive,  each  of  my 
children  will,  when  the  time  comes,  lend  him  a  quarter  of  the 
sum  necessary  to  purchase  a  connection ;  I  will  stand  surety 
for  him.  From  now  till  then  you  have  only  to  feed  and 


334  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

clothe  him ;  he  will  know  some  hard  times  no  doubt,  but  he 
will  learn  what  life  is.  Why,  why !  I  set  out  from  Lyons 
with  two  double  louis  given  me  by  my  grandmother ;  I  came 
to  Paris  on  foot — and  here  I  am !  Short  commons  are  good 
for  the  health.  Young  man,  with  discretion,  honesty,  and 
hard  work,  success  is  certain.  It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  make 
your  own  fortune ;  and  when  a  man  has  kept  his  teeth,  he  eats 
what  he  likes  in  his  old  age,  singing  '  La  Mere  Godichon ' 
every  now  and  then,  as  I  do.  Mark  my  words:  Honesty, 
hard  work,  and  discretion." 

"You  hear,  Oscar,"  said  his  mother.  "Your  uncle  has 
put  in  four  words  the  sum-total  of  all  my  teaching,  and  you 
ought  to  stamp  the  last  on  your  mind  in  letters  of  fire." 

"  Oh,  it  is  there  !  "  replied  Oscar. 

"Well,  then,  thank  your  uncle;  do  you  not  understand 
that  he  is  providing  for  you  in  the  future  ?  You  may  be  an 
attorney  in  Paris." 

"He  does  not  appreciate  the  splendor  of  his  destiny," 
said  the  old  man,  seeing  Oscar's  bewildered  face.  "  He  has 
but  just  left  school.  Listen  to  me :  I  am  not  given  to  wasting 
words,"  his  uncle  went  on.  "Remember  that  at  your  age 
honesty  is  only  secured  by  resisting  temptations,  and  in  a 
great  city  like  Paris  you  meet  them  at  every  turn.  Live  in  a 
garret  under  your  mother's  roof;  go  straight  to  your  lecture, 
and  from  that  to  your  office ;  work  away  morning,  noon,  and 
night,  and  study  at  home ;  be  a  second  clerk  by  the  time  you 
are  two-and-twenty,  and  a  head-clerk  at  four-and-twenty. 
Get  learning,  and  you  are  a  made  man.  And  then  if  you 
should  not  like  that  line  of  work,  you  might  go  into  my  son's 
office  as  a  notary  and  succeed  him.  So  work,  patience, 
honesty,  and  discretion — these  are  your  watchwords." 

"  And  God  grant  you  may  live  another  thirty  years  to  see 
your  fifth  child  realize  all  our  expectations  !  "  cried  Madame 
Clapart,  taking  the  old  man's  hand  and  pressing  it  with  a 
dignity  worthy  of  her  young  days. 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  335 

"Come,  breakfast,"  said  the  kind  old  man,  leading  Oscar 
in  by  the  ear. 

During  the  meal  Uncle  Cardot  watched  his  nephew  on  the 
sly,  and  soon  discovered  that  he  knew  nothing  of  life. 

"  Send  him  to  see  me  now  and  then,"  said  he,  as  he  took 
leave  of  her,  with  a  nod  to  indicate  Oscar.  "  I  will  lick  him 
into  shape." 

This  visit  soothed  the  poor  woman's  worst  grief,  for  she 
had  not  looked  for  such  a  happy  result.  For  a  fortnight  she 
took  Oscar  out  walking,  watched  over  him  almost  tyranni- 
cally, and  thus  time  went  on  till  the  end  of  October. 

One  morning  Oscar  saw  the  terrible  steward  walk  in  to  find 
the  wretched  party  in  the  Rue  de  la  Cerisaie  breakfasting  off 
a  salad  of  herring  and  lettuce,  with  a  cup  of  milk  to  wash  it 
down. 

"  We  have  settled  in  Paris,  but  we  do  not  live  as  we  did  at 
Presles,"  said  Moreau,  who  intended  thus  to  make  Madame 
Clapart  aware  of  the  change  in  their  circumstances,  brought 
about  by  Oscar's  misdemeanor.  "  But  I  shall  not  often  be  in 
town.  I  have  gone  into  partnership  with  old  Leger  and  old 
Margueron  of  Beaumont.  We  are  land  agents,  and  we  began 
by  buying  the  estate  of  Persan.  I  am  the  head  of  the  firm, 
which  has  altogether  a  million  of  francs,  for  I  have  borrowed 
on  my  property.  When  I  find  an  opening,  Pere  Leger  and 
I  go  into  the  matter,  and  my  partners  each  take  a  quarter  and 
I  half  of  the  profits,  for  I  have  all  the  trouble ;  I  shall  always 
be  on  the  road. 

'•  My  wife  lives  in  Paris  very  quietly,  in  the  Faubourg  du 
Roule.  When  we  have  fairly  started  in  business,  and  shall 
only  be  risking  the  interest  on  our  money,  if  we  are  satisfied 
with  Oscar,  we  may,  perhaps,  give  him  work." 

"Well,  after  all,  my  friend,  my  unlucky  boy's  blunder  will 
no  doubt  turn  out  to  be  the  cause  of  your  making  a  fine 
fortune,  for  you  really  were  wasting  your  talents  and  energy 


336  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

at  Presles."  Madame  Clapart  then  told  the  story  of  her 
visit  to  Uncle  Cardot,  to  show  Moreau  that  she  and  her  son 
might  be  no  further  expense  to  him. 

"  The  old  man  is  quite  right,"  said  the  ex-steward.  "Oscar 
must  be  kept  to  his  work  with  a  hand  of  iron,  and  he  will  no 
doubt  make  a  notary  or  an  attorney.  But  he  must  not  wander 
from  the  line  traced  out  for  him.  Ah !  I  know  the  man  you 
want.  The  custom  of  an  estate  agent  is  valuable.  I  have 
been  told  of  an  attorney  who  has  bought  a  practice  without 
any  connection.  He  is  a  young  man,  but  as  stiff  as  an  iron 
bar,  a  tremendous  worker,  a  perfect  horse  for  energy  and  go ; 
his  name  is  Desroches.  I  will  offer  him  all  our  business  on 
condition  of  his  taking  Oscar  in  hand.  I  will  offer  him  a 
premium  of  nine  hundred  francs,  of  which  I  will  pay  three 
hundred ;  thus  your  son  will  cost  you  only  six  hundred,  and 
I  will  recommend  him  strongly  to  his  master.  If  the  boy  is  ever 
to  become  a  man,  it  will  be  under  that  iron  rule,  for  he  will 
come  out  a  notary,  a  pleader,  or  an  attorney." 

"Come,  Oscar,  thank  Monsieur  Moreau  for  his  kindness; 
you  stand  there  like  a  mummy.  It  is  not  every  youth  who 
blunders  that  is  lucky  enough  to  find  friends  to  take  an  interest 
in  him  after  being  injured  by  him " 

"The  best  way  to  make  matters  up  with  me,"  said  Moreau, 
taking  Oscar's  hand,  "is  to  work  steadily  and  behave  well." 

Ten  days  after  this  Oscar  was  introduced  by  Monsieur 
Moreau  to  Maitre  Desroches,  attorney,  lately  established  in 
the  Rue  de  Bethisy,  in  spacious  rooms  at  the  end  of  a  narrow 
court,  at  a  relatively  low  rent.  Desroches,  a  young  man  of 
six-and-twenty,  the  son  of  poor  parents,  austerely  brought  up 
by  an  excessively  severe  father,  had  himself  known  what  it  was 
to  be  in  Oscar's  position  ;  he  therefore  took  an  interest  in  him, 
but  only  in  the  way  of  which  he  was  himself  capable,  with  all 
the  hardness  of  his  character.  The  manner  of  this  tall,  lean 
young  lawyer,  with  a  dull  complexion,  and  his  hair  cut  short 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  337 

all  over  his  head,  sharp  in  his  speech,  keen-eyed,  and  gloomy 
though  hasty,  terrified  poor  Oscar. 

"We  work  day  and  night  here,"  said  the  lawyer  from  the 
depths  of  his  chair,  and  from  behind  a  long  table,  on  which 
papers  were  piled  in  alps.  "Monsieur  Moreau,  we  will  not 
kill  him,  but  he  will  have  to  go  our  pace.  Monsieur  Godes- 
chal !  "  he  called  out. 

Although  it  was  Sunday,  the  head-clerk  appeared  with  a  pen 
in  his  hand. 

"  Monsieur  Godeschal,  this  is  the  articled  pupil  of  whom  I 
spoke,  and  in  whom  Monsieur  Moreau  takes  the  greatest  in- 
terest ;  he  will  dine  with  us,  and  sleep  in  the  little  attic  next 
to  your  room.  You  must  allow  him  exactly  time  enough  to 
get  to  the  law-schools  and  back,  so  that  he  has  not  five  minutes 
to  lose ;  see  that  he  learns  the  Code,  and  does  well  at  lecture ; 
that  is  to  say,  give  him  law  books  to  read  up  when  he  has  done 
his  school  work.  In  short,  he  is  to  be  under  your  immediate 
direction,  and  I  will  keep  an  eye  on  him.  We  want  to  turn 
him  out  what  you  are  yourself — a  capital  head-clerk — by  the 
time  he  is  ready  to  be  sworn  in  as  an  attorney.  Go  with 
Godeschal,  my  little  friend ;  he  will  show  you  your  room,  and 
you  can  move  into  it." 

"You  see,  Godeschal?"  Desroches  went  on,  addressing 
Moreau.  "  He  is  a  youngster  without  a  sou,  like  myself;  he 
is  Mariette's  brother,  and  she  is  saving  for  him,  so  that  he 
may  buy  a  connection  ten  years  hence.  All  my  clerks  are 
youngsters,  who  have  nothing  to  depend  on  but  their  ten 
fingers  to  make  their  fortune.  And  my  five  clerks  and  I  work 
like  any  dozen  of  other  men.  In  ten  years  I  shall  have  the 
finest  practice  in  Paris.  We  take  a  passionate  interest  here  in 
our  business  and  our  clients,  and  that  is  beginning  to  be 
known.  I  got  Godeschal  from  my  greater  brother  in  the 
law,  Derville  ;  with  him  he  was  second  clerk,  though  only  for" 
a  fortnight ;  but  we  had  made  friends  in  that  huge  office. 

"  I  give  Godeschal  a  thousand  francs  a  year,  with  board  and 
22 


338  A  START  IN  LIFE. 

lodging.  The  fellow  is  worth  it  to  me ;  he  is  indefatigable  ! 
I  like  that  boy  !  He  managed  to  live  on  six  hundred  francs  a 
year,  as  I  did  when  I  was  a  clerk.  What  I  absolutely  insist  on 
is  stainless  honesty,  and  the  man  who  can  practice  it  in  pov- 
erty is  a  man.  The  slightest  failing  on  that  score,  and  a  clerk 
of  mine  goes!  " 

"  Come,  the  boy  is  in  a  good  school,"  said  Moreau. 

For  two  whole  years  Oscar  lived  in  the  Rue  de  Bethisy,  in 
a  den  of  the  law ;  for  if  ever  this  old-fashioned  term  could  be 
applied  to  a  lawyer's  office,  it  was  to  this  of  Desroches.  Under 
this  minute  and  strict  supervision,  he  was  kept  so  rigidly  to 
hours  and  to  work  that  his  life  in  the  heart  of  Paris  was  like 
that  of  a  monk. 

At  five  in  the  morning,  in  all  weathers,  Godeschal  woke. 
He  went  down  to  the  office  with  Oscar,  to  save  a  fire,  and 
they  always  found  the  "chief"  up  and  at  work.  Oscar  did 
the  errands  and  prepared  his  school-work — studies  on  an  enor- 
mous scale.  Godeschal,  and  often  the  chief  himself,  showed 
their  pupil  what  authors  to  compare,  and  the  difficulties  to  be 
met.  Oscar  was  never  allowed  to  pass  from  one  chapter  of 
the  Code  to  the  next  till  he  had  thoroughly  mastered  it,  and 
had  satisfied  both  Desroches  and  Godeschal,  who  put  him 
through  preliminary  examinations,  far  longer  and  harder  than 
those  of  the  law-schools. 

On  his  return  from  the  schools,  where  he  did  not  spend 
much  time,  he  resumed  his  seat  in  the  office  and  worked 
again  ;  sometimes  he  went  into  the  Courts,  and  he  was  at  the 
bidding  of  the  merciless  Godeschal  till  dinner-time.  Dinner, 
which  he  shared  with  his  masters,  consisted  of  a  large  dish  of 
meat,  a  dish  of  vegetables,  and  a  salad ;  for  dessert  there  was 
a  bit  of  Gruyere  cheese.  After  dinner,  Godeschal  and  Oscar 
went  back  to  the  office  and  worked  there  till  the  evening. 

Once  a  month  Oscar  went  to  breakfast  with  his  Uncle  Car 
dot,  and  he  spent  the  Sundays  with  his  mother.     Moreau  from 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  339 

time  to  time,  if  he  came  to  the  office  on  business,  would  take 
the  boy  to  dine  at  the  Palais-Royal  and  treat  him  to  the  play. 
Oscar  had  been  so  thoroughly  snubbed  by  Godeschal  and  Des- 
roches  on  the  subject  of  his  craving  after  fashion  that  he  had 
ceased  to  think  about  dress. 

"A  good  clerk,"  said  Godeschal,  "should  have  two  black 
coats — one  old  and  one  new — black  trousers,  black  stockings 
and  shoes.  Boots  cost  too  much.  You  may  have  boots  when 
you  are  an  attorney.  A  clerk  ought  not  to  spend  more  than 
seven  hundred  francs  in  all.  He  should  wear  good,  strong 
shirts  of  stout  linen.  Oh,  when  you  start  from  zero  to  make 
a  fortune,  you  must  know  how  to  limit  yourself  to  what  is 
strictly  needful.  Look  at  Monsieur  Desroches !  He  did  as 
we  are  doing,  and  you  see  he  has  succeeded." 

Godeschal  practiced  what  he  preached.  Professing  the 
strictest  principles  of  honor,  reticence,  and  honesty,  he  acted 
on  them  without  any  display,  as  simply  as  he  walked  and 
breathed.  It  was  the  natural  working  of  his  soul,  as  walking 
and  breathing  are  the  working  of  certain  organs. 

Eighteen  months  after  Oscar's  arrival,  the  second  clerk  had 
made,  for  the  second  time,  a  small  mistake  in  the  accounts  of 
his  little  cash-box.  Godeschal  addressed  him  in  the  presence 
of  all  the  clerks — 

"  My  dear  Gaudet,  leave  on  your  own  account,  that  it  may 
not  be  said  that  the  chief  turned  you  out.  You  are  either  in- 
accurate or  careless,  and  neither  of  those  faults  is  of  any  use 
here.  The  chief  shall  not  know,  and  that  is  the  best  I  can 
do  for  an  old  fellow-clerk." 

Thus,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  Oscar  was  third  clerk  in  Maltre 
Desroches'  office.  Though  he  earned  no  salary,  yet  he  was 
fed  and  lodged,  for  he  did  the  work  of  a  second  clerk.  Des- 
roches employed  two  managing  clerks,  and  the  second  clerk 
was  overdone  with  work.  By  the  time  he  had  got  through  his 
second  year  at  the  schools,  Oscar,  who  knew  more  than  many 
a  man  who  has  taken  out  his  license,  did  the  work  of  the 


340  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

Courts  very  intelligently,  and  occasionally  pleaded  in  cham- 
bers. In  fact,  Desroches  and  Godeschal  expressed  themselves 
satisfied. 

Still,  though  he  had  become  almost  sensible,  he  betrayed  a 
love  of  pleasure  and  a  desire  to  shine,  which  were  only  sub- 
dued by  the  stern  discipline  and  incessant  toil  of  the  life  he 
led.  The  estate  agent,  satisfied  with  the  boy's  progress,  then 
relaxed  his  strictness;  and  when,  in  the  month  of  July,  1825, 
Oscar  passed  his  final  examination,  Moreau  gave  him  enough 
money  to  buy  some  good  clothes.  Madame  Clapart,  very 
happy  and  proud  of  her  son,  prepared  a  magnificent  outfit  for 
the  qualified  attorney,  the  second  clerk,  as  he  was  soon  to  be. 
In  poor  families  a  gift  always  takes  the  form  of  something  use- 
ful. 

When  the  Courts  reopened  in  the  month  of  November, 
Oscar  took  the  second  clerk's  room  and  his  place,  with  a 
salary  of  eight  hundred  francs,  board  and  lodging.  And 
Uncle  Cardot,  who  came  privately  to  make  inquiries  about 
his  nephew  of  Desroches,  promised  Madame  Clapart  that  he 
would  put  Oscar  in  a  position  to  buy  a  connection  if  he  went 
on  as  he  had  begun. 

In  spite  of  such  seeming  wisdom,  Oscar  Husson  was  torn 
by  many  yearnings  in  the  bottom  of  his  soul.  Sometimes  he 
felt  as  if  he  must  fly  from  a  life  so  entirely  opposed  to  his  taste 
and  character ;  a  galley  slave,  he  thought,  was  happier  than 
he.  Galled  by  his  iron  collar,  he  was  sometimes  tempted  to 
run  away  when  he  compared  himself  with  some  well-dressed 
youth  he  met  in  the  street.  Now  and  then  an  impulse  of 
folly  with  regard  to  women  would  surge  up  in  him  ;  and  his 
resignation  was  only  a  part  of  his  disgust  of  life.  Kept  steady 
by  Godeschal's  example,  he  was  dragged  rather  than  led  by 
his  will  to  follow  so  thorny  a  path. 

Godeschal,  who  watched  Oscar,  made  it  his  rule  not  to  put 
his  ward  in  the  way  of  temptation.  The  boy  had  usually  no 
money,  or  so  little  that  he  could  not  run  into  excesses.  Dur- 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  341 

ing  the  last  year  the  worthy  Godeschal  had  five  or  six  times 
taken  Oscar  out  for  some  "  lark,"  paying  the  cost,  for  he  per- 
ceived that  the  cord  round  this  tethered  kid's  neck  must  be 
loosened ;  and  these  excesses,  as  the  austere  head-clerk  termed 
them,  helped  Oscar  to  endure  life.  He  found  little  to  amuse 
him  at  his  uncle's  house,  and  still  less  at  his  mother's,  for  she 
lived  even  more  frugally  than  Desroches. 

Moreau  could  not,  like  Godeschal,  make  himself  familiar 
with  Oscar,  and  it  is  probable  that  this  true  protector  made 
Godeschal  his  deputy  in  initiating  the  poor  boy  into  the 
many  mysteries  of  life.  Oscar,  thus  learning  discretion, 
could  at  last  appreciate  the  enormity  of  the  blunder  he  had 
committed  during  his  ill-starred  journey  in  the  coucou ;  still, 
as  the  greater  part  of  his  fancies  were  so  far  suppressed,  the 
follies  of  youth  might  yet  lead  him  astray.  However,  as  by 
degrees  he  acquired  knowledge  of  the  world  and  its  ways,  his 
reason  developed ;  and  so  long  as  Godeschal  did  not  lose 
sight  of  him,  Moreau  hoped  to  train  Madame  Clapart's  son 
to  a  good  end. 

"How  is  he  going  on?"  the  estate  agent  asked  on  his 
return  from  a  journey  which  had  kept  him  away  from  Paris 
for  some  months. 

"Still  much  too  vain,"  replied  Godeschal.  "You  give 
him  good  clothes  and  fine  linen,  he  wears  shirt-frills  like  a 
stockbroker,  and  my  gentleman  goes  to  walk  in  the  Tuileries 
on  Sundays  in  search  of  adventures.  What  can  I  say?  He 
is  young.  He  teases  me  to  introduce  him  to  my  sister, 
in  whose  house  he  would  meet  a  famous  crew  I — actresses, 
dancers,  dandies,  men  who  are  eating  themselves  out  of  house 
and  home.  He  is  not  cut  out  for  an  attorney,  I  fear.  Still, 
he  does  not  speak  badly ;  he  might  become  a  pleader.  He 
could  argue  a  case  from  a  well-prepared  brief." 

In  November,  1825,  when  Oscar  Husson  was  made  second 
clerk,  and  was  preparing  his  thesis  for  taking  out  his  license, 


342  A  START  IN  LIFE. 

a  new  fourth  clerk  came  to  Desroches'  office  to  fill  up  the  gap 
made  by  Oscar's  promotion. 

This  fourth  clerk,  whose  name  was  Frederic  Marest,  was 
intended  for  the  higher  walks  of  the  law,  and  was  now  ending 
his  third  year  at  the  schools.  From  information  received  by 
the  inquiring  minds  of  the  office,  he  was  a  handsome  fellow 
of  three-and-twenty,  who  had  inherited  about  twelve  thousand 
francs  a  year  at  the  death  of  a  bachelor  uncle,  and  the  son  of' 
a  Madame  Marest,  the  widow  of  a  rich  lumber  merchant. 
The  future  judge,  filled  with  the  laudable  desire  to  know  his 
business  in  its  minutest  details,  placed  himself  under  Des- 
roches, intending  to  study  procedure,  so  as  to  be  fit  to  take 
the  place  of  a  managing  clerk  in  two  years'  time.  His  pur- 
pose was  to  go  through  his  first  stages  as  a  pleader  in  Paris, 
so  as  to  be  fully  prepared  for  an  appointment,  which,  as  a 
young  man  of  wealth,  he  would  certainly  get.  To  see  himself 
a  public  prosecutor,  at  the  age  of  thirty,  was  the  height  of  his 
ambition. 

Though  Frederic  Marest  was  the  first  cousin  of  Georges 
Marest,  the  practical  joker  of  the  journey  to  Presles,  as  young 
Husson  knew  this  youth  only  by  his  first  name,  as  Georges, 
the  name  of  Frederic  Marest  had  no  suggestions  for  him. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Godeschal  at  breakfast,  addressing  all 
his  underlings,  "  I  have  to  announce  the  advent  of  a  new 
student  in  law ;  and  as  he  is  very  rich,  we  shall,  I  hope,  make 
him  pay  his  footing  handsomely." 

"Bring  out  the  Book,"  cried  Oscar  to  the  youngest  clerk, 
"and  let  us  be  serious,  pray." 

The  boy  clambered  like  a  squirrel  along  the  pigeon-holes 
to  reach  a  volume  lying  on  the  top  shelf,  so  as  to  collect  all 
the  dust. 

"  It  is  finely  colored  !  "  said  the  lad,  holding  it  up. 

We  must  now  explain  the  perennial  pleasantry  which  at 
that  time  gave  rise  to  the  existence  of  such  a  book  in  almost 
every  lawyer's  office.  An  old  saying  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  343 

tury— "  Clerks  only  breakfast,  farmers  generally  dine,  and 
lords  sup" — is  still  true,  as  regards  the  faculty  of  law,  of 
every  man  who  has  spent  two  or  three  years  studying  proce- 
dure under  an  attorney,  or  the  technicalities  of  a 'notary's 
business  under  some  master  of  that  branch.  In  the  life  of  a 
lawyer's  clerk  work  is  so  unremitting  that  pleasure  is  enjoyed 
all  the  more  keenly  for  its  rarity,  and  a  practical  joke  espe- 
cially is  relished  with  rapture.  This,  indeed,  is  what  explains 
up  to  a  certain  point  Georges  Marest's  behavior  in  Pierrotin's 
chaise.  The  gloomiest  of  law-clerks  is  always  a  prey  to  the 
craving  for  farcical  buffoonery.  The  instinct  with  which  a 
practical  joke  or  an  occasion  for  fooling  is  jumped  at  and 
utilized  among  law-clerks  is  marvelous  to  behold,  and  is  found 
in  no  other  class  but  among  artists.  The  studio  and  the 
lawyer's  office  are,  in  this  respect,  better  than  the  stage. 

Desroches,  having  started  in  an  office  without  a  connection, 
had,  as  it  were,  founded  a  new  dynasty.  This  "  Restoration  " 
had  interrupted  the  traditions  of  the  office  with  regard  to  the 
footing  of  a  new-comer.  Desroches,  indeed,  settling  in  quar- 
ters where  stamped  paper  had  never  yet  been  seen,  had  put  in 
new  tables  and  clean  new  file-boxes  of  white  mill-board  edged 
with  blue.  His  staff  consisted  of  clerks  who  had  come  from 
other  offices  with  no  connection  between  them,  and  thrown 
together  by  surprise,  as  it  were. 

But  Godeschal,  who  had  learned  his  fence  under  Derville, 
was  not  the  man  to  allow  the  precious  tradition  of  the  Bien- 
venue  to  be  lost.  The  JBienvenue,  or  welcome,  is  the  break- 
fast which  every  new  pupil  must  give  to  the  "old  boys"  of 
the  office  to  which  he  is  articled.  Now,  just  at  the  time  when 
Oscar  joined  the  office,  in  the  first  six  months  of  Desroches' 
career,  one  winter  afternoon  when  work  was  through  much 
earlier  than  usual,  and  the  clerks  were  warming  themselves 
before  going  home,  Godeschal  hit  upon  the  notion  of  con- 
cocting a  sham  register  of  the  fasti  and  High  Festivals  of  the 
Minions  of  the  Law,  a  relic  of  great  antiquity,  saved  from  the 


344  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

storms  of  the  Revolution,  and  handed  down  from  the  office  of 
the  great  Bordin,  Attorney  to  the  Chatelet,  and  the  imme- 
diate predecessor  of  Sauvagnest,  the  attorney  from  whom 
Desroches  had  taken  the  office.  The  first  thing  was  to  find 
in  some  stationer's  old  stock  a  ledger  with  paper  bearing  an 
eighteenth-century  watermark,  and  properly  bound  in  parch- 
ment, in  which  to  enter  the  decrees  of  the  Council.  Having 
discovered  such  a  volume,  it  was  tossed  in  the  dust,  in  the 
ashes-pan,  in  the  fireplace,  in  the  kitchen  ;  it  was  even  left  in 
what  the  clerks  called  the  deliberating-room ;  and  it  had  ac- 
quired a  tint  of  mildew  that  would  have  enchanted  a  book- 
worm, the  cracks  of  primeval  antiquity,  and  corners  so  worn 
that  the  mice  might  have  nibbled  them  off.  The  edges  were 
rubbed  with  infinite  skill.  The  book  being  thus  perfected, 
here  are  a  few  passages  which  will  explain  to  the  dullest  the 
uses  to  which  Desroches'  clerks  devoted  it,  the  first  sixty 
pages  being  filled  with  sham  reports  of  cases. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Father  and  of  the  Son  and  of  the 
Holy  Ghost.  So  be  it. 

"Whereas,  on  this  day  the  Festival  of  our  Lady  Saint- 
Genevieve,  patron  saint  of  this  good  city  of  Paris,  under 
whose  protection  the  scribes  and  scriveners  of  this  office  have 
dwelt  since  the  year  of  our  Lord,  1525,  we,  the  undersigned 
clerks  and  scriveners  of  this  office  of  Master  Jerosme-Sebastien 
Bordin,  successor  here  to  the  deceased  Guerbet,  who  in  his 
lifetime  served  as  attorney  to  the  Chatelet,  have  recognized 
the  need  for  us  to  replace  the  register  and  archives  of  instal- 
lations of  clerks  in  this  glorious  office,  being  ourselves  dis- 
tinguished members  of  the  Faculty  of  the  Law,  which  former 
register  is  now  filled  with  the  roll  and  record  of  our  well- 
beloved  predecessors,  and  we  have  besought  the  keeper  of  the 
Palace  archives  to  bestow  it  with  those  of  other  offices,  and  we 
have  all  attended  high  mass  in  the  parish  church  of  Saint- 
Severin  to  solemnize  the  opening  of  this  our  new  register. 


A   START  IN  LIFE,  346 

"  In  token  whereof,  we  here  sign  and  affix  our  names. 

"  MALIN,  Head-Clerk. 

"  GREVIN,  Second  Clerk. 

"ATHANASE  FERET,  Clerk. 

"JACQUES  HUET,  Clerk. 

"  REGNALD  DE  SAINT- JEAN-D'ANGELY,  Clerk. 

"  BEDEAU,  Office  Boy  and  Gutter- jumper. 

"In  the  year  of  our  Lord,  1787. 

"  Having  attended  mass,  we  went  in  a  body  to  la  Courtille, 
and  had  a  great  breakfast,  which  lasted  until  seven  of  the 
next  morning." 

This  was  a  miracle  of  caligraphy.  An  expert  could  have 
sworn  that  the  writing  dated  from  the  eighteenth  century.  Then 
follow  twenty-seven  reports  in  full  of  "Welcome"  break- 
fasts, the  last  dating  from  the  fatal  year  of  1792. 

After  a  gap  of  fourteen  years,  the  register  reopened  in  1806 
with  the  appointment  of  Bordin  to  be  attorney  to  the  lower 
Court  of  the  Seine.  And  this  was  the  record  of  the  re-con- 
stitution of  the  Kingdom  of  Basoche  (the  legal  profession 
generally) : 

"God  in  His  clemency  has  granted  that  in  the  midst  of 
the  storms  which  have  devastated  France,  now  a  great  Empire, 
the  precious  archives  of  the  most  illustrious  office  of  Master 
Bordin  should  be  preserved.  And  we,  the  undersigned  clerks 
of  the  most  honorable  and  most  worshipful  Master  Bordin, 
do  not  hesitate  to  ascribe  this  their  marvelous  escape,  when  so 
many  other  title-deeds,  charters,  and  letters-patent  have  van. 
ished,  to  the  protection  of  Saint- Genevieve,  the  patron  saint 
of  this  office,  as  likewise  to  the  reverence  paid  by  the  last  of 
the  attorneys  of  the  old  stock  to  all  ancient  use  and  custom. 
And  whereas  we  know  not  what  share  to  ascribe  to  the  Lady 
Saint-Genevieve  and  what  to  Master  Bordin  in  the  working  of 


346  A  START  IN  LIFE. 

this  miracle,  we  have  resolved  to  go  to  the  Church  of  Saint 
Etienne-du-Mont,  there  to  attend  a  mass  to  be  said  at  the 
altar  of  that  saintly  shepherdess  who  sendeth  us  so  many  lambs 
to  fleece,  and  to  invite  our  chief  and  master  to  breakfast,  in 
the  hope  that  he  may  bear  the  charges  thereof.  And  to  this 
we  set  our  hand. 

"  OIGNARD,  Head-Clerk. 

"  POIDEVIN,  Second  Clerk. 

"PROUST,  Clerk. 

"BRIGNOLET,  Clerk. 

"  DERVILLE,  Clerk. 

"  AUGUSTEN  CORET,  Office  Boy. 

"At  the  office,  this  loth  day  of  November,  1806." 

"At  three  o'clock  of  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day,  the 
undersigned,  being  the  clerks  of  this  office,  record  their  grati- 
tude to  their  very  worshipful  chief,  who  hath  feasted  them  at 
the  shop  of  one  Rolland,  a  cook  in  the  Rue  du  Hasard,  on 
good  wines  of  three  districts,  Bordeaux,  Champagne,  and 
Burgundy,  and  on  meats  of  good  savor,  from  four  o'clock  of 
the  afternoon  until  half-past  seven,  with  coffee,  liqueurs,  and 
ices  galore.  Yet  hath  the  presence  of  the  worshipful  master 
hindered  us  from  the  singing  of  laudes  (praises)  in  clerkly 
modes,  nor  hath  any  clerk  overstepped  the  limits  of  pleasing 
levity,  inasmuch  as  our  worthy,  worshipful,  and  generous 
master  hath  promised  to  take  us  his  clerks  to  see  Talma  in 
'  Britannicus '  at  the  Theatre  Francais.  Long  may  he 
flourish !  May  heaven  shed  blessings  on  our  worshipful 
master !  May  he  get  a  good  price  for  this  his  glorious  office  ! 
May  rich  clients  come  to  his  heart's  desire !  May  his  bills 
of  costs  be  paid  in  gold  on  the  nail !  May  all  our  future  mas- 
ters be  like  him  !  May  he  be  ever  beloved  of  his  clerks,  even 
when  he  is  no  more." 

Next  came  thirty-three  reports  in  due  form  of  the  receptions 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  347 

of  clerks  who  had  joined  the  office,  distinguished  by  various 
handwritings  in  different  shades  of  ink,  distinct  phraseology, 
and  different  signatures,  and  containing  such  laudatory  ac- 
counts of  the  good-cheer  and  wines  as  seemed  to  prove  that 
the  reports  were  drawn  up  on  the  spot  and  while  they  were  in 
their  cups. 

Finally,  in  the  month  of  June,  1822,  at  the  time  when  Des- 
roches  himself  had  taken  the  oaths,  there  was  this  page  of 
business-like  prose : 

"  I,  the  undersigned  Francois-Claude-Marie  Godeschal, 
being  called  by  Maitre  Desroches  to  fulfill  the  difficult  duties 
of  head-clerk  in  an  office  where  there  are  as  yet  no  clients, 
having  heard  from  Maitre  Derville,  whose  chambers  I  have 
quitted,  of  the  existence  of  certain  famous  archives  of  Baso- 
chian  banquets  and  Festivals  famous  in  the  Courts,  I  besought 
our  worshipful  master  to  require  them  of  his  predecessor ;  for 
it  was  important  to  recover  that  document,  which  bore  the 
date  A.  D.  1786,  and  was  the  sequel  to  the  archives,  deposited 
with  those  of  the  Courts  of  Law,  of  which  the  existence  was 
certified  by  MM.  Terrasse  and  Duclos,  keepers  of  the  said 
archives,  going  back  to  the  year  1525,  and  giving  historical 
details  of  the  highest  value  as  to  the  manners  and  cookery  of 
the  law-clerks  in  those  days. 

"  This  having  been  granted,  the  office  was  put  in  possession 
as  at  this  time  of  these  evidences  of  the  worship  constantly 
paid  by  our  predecessors  to  the  Dive  Bouteille  (divine  bottle) 
and  to  good-cheer. 

"Whereupon,  for  the  edification  of  those  that  come  after 
us,  and  to  continue  the  sequence  of  time  and  cup,  I  have  in- 
vited MM.  Doublet,  second  clerk  ;  Vassal,  third  clerk  ;  Heris- 
son  and  Grandemain,  assistant  clerks ;  Dumets,  office-boy,  to 
breakfast  on  Sunday  next  at  the  Red  Horse  (Cheval  Rouge), 
on  the  Quai  Saint-Bernard,  where  we  will  celebrate  the  re- 
covery of  this  volume  containing  the  charter  of  our  guzzlings. 


348  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

"On  this  day,  Sunday,  June  27th,  one  dozen  bottles  of 
various  wines  were  drunk  and  found  excellent.  Noteworthy, 
likewise,  were  two  melons,  pies  au  jus  romanum,  a  fillet  of 
beef,  and  a  toast  Agaricibus.  Mademoiselle  Mariette,  the 
illustrious  sister  of  the  head-clerk,  and  leading  lady  at  the 
Royal  Academy  of  Music  and  Dancing,  having  given  to  the 
clerks  of  this  office  stalls  for  that  evening's  performance,  she 
is  hereby  to  be  remembered  for  her  act  of  generosity.  And 
it  is  furthermore  resolved  that  the  said  clerks  shall  proceed  in  a 
body  to  return  thanks  to  that  noble  damsel,  and  to  assure  her 
that  on  the  occasion  of  her  first  lawsuit,  if  the  devil  involves 
her  in  one,  she  shall  pay  no  more  than  the  bare  costs ;  to  which 
all  set  their  hand. 

"  Godeschal  was  proclaimed  the  pride  of  his  profession 
and  the  best  of  good  fellows.  May  the  man  who  treats  others 
so  handsomely  soon  be  treating  for  a  business  of  his  own  !  " 

The  document  was  bespattered  with  wine-spots  and  with  blots 
and  flourishes  like  fireworks. 

To  give  a  complete  idea  of  the  stamp  of  truth  impressed  on 
this  great  work,  it  will  suffice  to  extract  the  report  of  the  re- 
ception supposed  to  have  been  provided  by  Oscar : 

"To-day,  Monday,  the  25th  day  of  November,  1822,  after 
a  meeting  held  yesterday  in  the  Rue  de  la  Cerisaie,  hard  by 
the  Arsenal,  at  the  house  of  Madame  Clapart,  the  mother  of 
the  new  pupil,  by  name  Oscar  Husson,  we,  the  undersigned, 
declare  that  the  breakfast  far  surpassed  our  expectations.  It 
included  radishes  (red  and  black),  gherkins,  anchovies,  butter, 
and  olives  as  introductory  hors-d'oeuvres  (side-dishes);  of  a 
noble  rice  soup  that  bore  witness  to  a  mother's  care,  inasmuch 
as  we  recognized  in  it  a  delicious  flavor  of  chicken  ;  and  by 
the  courtesy  of  the  founder  of  the  feast  we  were,  in  fact,  in- 
formed that  the  trimmings  of  a  handsome  cold  dish  prepared 
by  Madame  Clapart  had  been  judiciously  added  to  the  stock 


A  START  IN  LIFE.  349 

concocted  at  home  with  such  care  as  is  known  only  in  private 
kitchens. 

"Item:  the  aforementioned  cold  chicken,  surrounded  by  a 
sea  of  jelly,  the  work  of  the  aforenamed  mother. 

"Item  :  an  ox-tongue,  aux  tomates  (with  tomatoes),  on  which 
we  proved  ourselves  by  no  means  au-tomata. 

"Item :  a  stew  of  pigeons  of  such  flavor  as  led  us  to  be- 
lieve that  angels  had  watched  over  the  pot. 

"Item :  a  dish  of  macaroni  flanked  by  cups  of  chocolate 
custard. 

"Item :  dessert,  consisting  of  eleven  dishes,  among  which, 
in  spite  of  the  intoxication  resulting  from  sixteen  bottles  of 
excellent  wine,  we  discerned  the  flavor  of  an  exquisitely  and 
superlatively  delicious  preserve  of  peaches. 

"The  wines  of  Roussillon  and  of  the  Cote  du  Rhone  quite 
outdid  those  of  Champagne  and  Burgundy.  A  bottle  of 
Maraschino,  and  one  of  Kirsch,  finally,  and  in  spite  of  deli- 
cious coffee,  brought  us  to  such  a  pitch  of  oenological  rapture, 
that  one  of  us — namely,  Master  Herisson — found  himself  in 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne  when  he  believed  he  was  still  on  the 
Boulevard  du  Temple ;  and  that  Jacquinaut,  the  gutter-jumper, 
aged  fourteen,  spoke  to  citizens'  wives  of  fifty-seven,  taking 
them  for  women  of  the  street ;  to  which  all  set  their  hand. 

"  Now,  in  the  statutes  of  our  Order  there  is  a  law  strictly 
observed,  which  is,  that  those  who  aspire  to  the  benefits  and 
honors  of  the  profession  of  the  law  shall  restrict  the  magnifi- 
cence of  their  'welcome*  to  the  due  proportion  with  their 
fortune,  inasmuch  as  it  is  a  matter  of  public  notoriety  that  no 
man  with  a  private  income  serves  Themis,  and  that  all  clerks 
are  kept  short  of  cash  by  their  fond  parents ;  wherefore,  it  is 
with  great  admiration  that  we  here  record  the  munificence  of 
Madame  Clapart,  widow  after  her  first  marriage  of  Monsieur 
Husson,  the  new  licentiate's  father,  and  declare  that  it  was 
worthy  of  the  cheers  we  gave  her  at  dessert ;  to  which  all  set 
their  hand." 


350  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

This  rigmarole  had  already  taken  in  three  new-comers,  and 
three  real  breakfasts  were  duly  recorded  in  this  imposing 
volume. 

On  the  day  when  a  neophyte  first  made  his  appearance  in 
the  office,  the  boy  always  laid  the  archives  on  the  desk  in 
front  of  his  seat,  and  the  clerks  chuckled  as  they  watched  the 
face  of  the  new  student  while  he  read  these  grotesque  passages. 
Each  in  turn,  inter pocula,  had  been  initiated  into  the  secret 
of  this  practical  joke,  and  the  revelation,  as  may  be  supposed, 
filled  them  with  the  hope  of  mystifying  other  clerks  in  the 
future. 

So,  now,  my  readers  can  imagine  the  countenances  of  the 
four  clerks  and  the  boy,  when  Oscar,  now  in  his  turn  the 
practical  joker,  uttered  the  words,  "  Bring  out  the  Book." 

Ten  minutes  later,  a  handsome  young  man  came  in,  well 
grown  and  pleasant-looking,  asked  for  Monsieur  Desroches, 
and  gave  his  name  at  once  to  Godeschal. 

"  I  am  Frederic  Marest,"  said  he,  "  and  have  come  to  fill 
the  place  of  third  clerk  here." 

"Monsieur  Husson,"  said  Godeschal,  "show  the  gentle- 
man his  seat,  and  induct  him  into  our  ways  of  work." 

Next  morning  the  new  clerk  found  the  Book  lying  on  his 
writing-pad  ;  but  after  reading  the  first  pages,  he  only  laughed, 
gave  no  invitation,  and  put  the  book  aside  on  his  desk. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he,  as  he  was  leaving  at  five  o'clock, 
"  I  have  a  cousin  who  is  managing-clerk  to  Maitre  Leopold 
Hannequin,  the  notary,  and  I  will  consult  him  as  to  what  I 
should  do  to  pay  my  footing." 

"This  looks  badly,"  cried  Godeschal.  "Our  sucking 
magistrate  is  no  greenhorn." 

"  Oh  !  we  will  lead  him  a  life  !"  said  Oscar. 

Next  afternoon,  at  about  two  o'clock,  Oscar  saw  a  visitor 
come  in,  and  recognized  in  Hannequin's  head-clerk  Georges 
Marest. 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  35! 

"Why,  here  is  AH  Pasha's  friend!"  said  he,  in  an  airy 
tone. 

"What?  you  here,  my  lord,  the  Ambassador?"  retorted 
Georges,  remembering  Oscar. 

"Oh,  ho!  then  you  are  old  acquaintances?"  said  Godes- 
chal  to  Georges. 

"I  believe  you!  We  played  the  fool  in  company,"  said 
Georges,  "above  two  years  ago.  Yes,  I  left  Crottat  to  go  to 
Mannequin  in  consequence  of  that  very  affair." 

"  What  affair?  "  asked  Godeschal. 

"Oh,  a  mere  nothing,"  replied  Georges,  with  a  wink  at 
Oscar.  "  We  tried  to  make  game  of  a  peer  of  France,  and  it 
was  he  who  made  us  look  foolish.  And  now,  I  hear  you  want 
to  draw  my  cousin." 

"We  do  not  draw  anything,"  said  Oscar  with  dignity. 
"  Here  is  our  charter."  And  he  held  out  the  famous  volume 
at  a  page  where  sentence  of  excommunication  was  recorded 
against  a  refractory  student,  who  had  been  fairly  driven  out 
of  the  office  for  stinginess  in  1788. 

"Still,  I  seem  to  smell  game,"  said  Georges,  "for  here  is 
the  trail,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  farcical  archives.  "How- 
ever, my  cousin  and  I  can  afford  it,  and  we  will  give  you  a 
feast  such  as  you  never  had,  and  which  will  stimulate  your 
imagination  when  recording  it  here.  To-morrow,  Sunday,  at 
the  Rocher  de  Cancale,  two  o'clock.  And  I  will  take  you 
afterward  to  spend  the  evening  with  Madame  la  Marquise  de 
las  Florentinas  y  Cabirolos,  where  we  will  gamble,  and  you 
will  meet  the  elite  of  fashion.  And  so,  gentlemen  of  the 
lower  Court,"  he  went  on,  with  the  arrogance  of  a  notary,  "  let 
us  have  your  best  behavior,  and  carry  your  wine  like  gentlemen 
of  the  Regency." 

"Hurrah!"  cried  the  clerks  like  one  man.  "Bravo! — 
Very  well ! —  Vivat !  (bravo). — Long  live  the  Marests  ! " 

"  Pontins"  added  the  boy  (Les  Marais  Pontins— the  Pon- 
tine  Marshes). 


352  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

"  What  is  up?  "  asked  Desroches,  coming  out  of  his  private 
room.  "  Ah  !  you  are  here,  Georges,"  said  he  to  the  visitor. 
"  I  know  you,  you  are  leading  my  clerks  into  mischief." 
And  he  went  back  into  his  own  room,  calling  Oscar. 

"Here,"  said  he,  opening  his  cash-box,  "are  five  hundred 
francs;  go  to  the  Palace  of  Justice  and  get  the  judgment  in 
the  case  of  Vandenesse  v.  Vandenesse  out  of  the  copying- 
clerk's  office  ;  it  must  be  sent  in  this  evening  if  possible.  I 
promised  Simon  a  refresher  of  twenty  francs ;  wait  for  the 
copy  if  it  is  not  ready,  and  do  not  let  yourself  be  put  off. 
Derville  is  quite  capable  of  putting  a  drag  on  our  wheels  if  it 
will  serve  his  client.  Count  Felix  de  Vandenesse  is  more 
influential  than  his  brother  the  ambassador,  our  client.  So 
keep  your  eyes  open,  and,  if  the  least  difficulty  arises,  come  to 
me  at  once." 

Oscar  set  out,  determined  to  distinguish  himself  in  this 
little  skirmish,  the  first  job  that  had  come  to  him  since  his 
promotion. 

When  Georges  and  Oscar  were  both  gone,  Godeschal  tried 
to  pump  the  new  clerk  as  to  what  jest  might  lie,  as  he  felt 
sure,  under  the  name  of  the  Marquise  de  las  Florentinas  y 
Cabirolos ;  but  Frederic  carried  on  his  cousin's  joke  with  the 
coolness  and  gravity  of  a  judge,  and  by  his  replies  and  his 
manner  contrived  to  convey  to  all  the  clerks  that  the  Marquise 
de  las  Florentinas  was  the  widow  of  a  Spanish  grandee,  whom 
his  cousin  was  courting.  Born  in  Mexico,  and  the  daughter 
of  a  Creole,  this  wealthy  young  widow  was  remarkable  for 
the  free-and-easy  demeanor  characteristic  of  the  women  of 
the  Tropics. 

"  '  She  likes  to  laugh,  She  likes  to  drink,  She  likes  to  sing 
as  we  do,'  "  said  he,  quoting  a  famous  song  by  Beranger. 
"And  Georges,"  he  went  on,  "  is  very  rich;  he  inherited  a 
fortune  from  his  father,  who  was  a  widower,  and  who  left 
him  eighteen  thousand  francs  a  year,  which,  with  twelve  thou- 
sand left  to  each  of  us  by  an  uncle,  make  an  income  of  thirty 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  353 

thousand  francs.  And  he  hopes  to  be  Marquis  de  las  Floren- 
tinas,  for  the  young  widow  bears  her  title  in  her  own  right, 
and  can  confer  it  on  her  husband." 

Though  the  clerks  remained  very  doubtful  as  to  the  mar- 
quise,  the  prospect  of  a  breakfast  at  the  Rocher  de  Cancale, 
and  of  a  fashionable  soiree,  filled  them  with  joy.  They 
reserved  their  opinion  as  to  the  Spanish  lady,  to  judge  her 
without  appeal  after  having  seen  her. 

The  Marquise  de  las  Florentinas  was,  in  fact,  neither  more 
nor  less  than  Mademoiselle  Agathe  Florentine  Cabirolle, 
leading  dancer  at  the  Gaite  Theatre,  at  whose  house  Uncle 
Cardot  sang  "La  Mere  Godichon."  Within  a  year  of  the 
very  reparable  loss  of  the  late  Madame  Cardot,  the  fortunate 
merchant  met  Florentine  one  evening  coming  out  of  Coulon's 
dancing  school.  Dazzled  by  the  beauty  of  this  flower  of  the 
ballet — Florentine  was  then  but  thirteen — the  retired  store- 
keeper followed  her  to  the  Rue  Pastourelle,  where  he  had  the 
satisfaction  of  learning  that  the  future  divinity  of  the  dance 
owed  her  existence  to  a  humble  doorkeeper.  The  mother 
and  daughter,  transplanted  within  a  fortnight  to  the  Rue  de 
Crussol,  there  found  themselves  in  modest  but  easy  circum- 
stances. So  it  was  to  this  "Patron  of  the  Arts,"  to  use 
a  time-honored  phrase,  that  the  stage  was  indebted  for  the 
budding  artist. 

The  generous  Msecenas  almost  turned  their  simple  brains 
by  given  them  mahogany  furniture,  curtains,  carpets,  and  a 
well-fitted  kitchen ;  he  enabled  them  to  keep  a  servant,  and 
allowed  them  two  hundred  and  fifty  francs  a  month.  Old 
Cardot,  with  his  ailes  de  pigeon*  to  them  seemed  an  angel, 
and  was  treated  as  a  benefactor  should  be.  This  was  the 
golden  age  of  the  old  man's  passion. 

For  three  years  the  singer  of  "La  Mere  Godichon"  was 
so  judicious  as  to  keep  Mademoiselle  Cabirolle  and  her 
mother  in  this  unpretentious  house,  close  to  the  theatre;  then, 

*  Pigeon-wings  :  style  of  his  hair. 
23 


354  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

for  love  of  the  Terpsichorean  art,  he  placed  his  protege 
under  Vestris.  And,  in  1820,  he  was  so  happy  as  to  see 
Florentine  dance  her  first  steps  in  the  ballet  of  a  spectacular 
melodrama  called  "  The  Ruins  of  Babylon."  Florentine  was 
now  sixteen. 

Soon  after  this  first  appearance  Uncle  Cardot  was  "an  old 
screw,"  in  the  young  lady's  estimation;  however,  as  he  had 
tact  enough  to  understand  that  a  dancer  at  the  Gaite  Theatre 
must  keep  up  a  position,  and  raised  her  monthly  allowance  to 
five  hundred  francs  a  month,  if  he  was  no  longer  an  angel, 
he  was  at  least  a  friend  for  life,  a  second  father.  This  was 
the  age  of  silver. 

Between  1820  and  1823  Florentine  went  through  the  ex- 
perience which  must  come  to  every  ballet-dancer  of  nineteen  or 
twenty.  Her  friends  were  the  famous  opera-singers  Mariette 
and  Tullia,  Florine,  and  poor  Coralie,  so  early  snatched  from 
An,  Love,  and  Camusot.  And  as  little  Uncle  Cardot  himself 
was  now  five  years  older,  he  had  drifted  into  the  indulgence 
of  that  half-fatherly  affection  which  old  men  feel  for  the  young 
talents  they  have  trained,  and  whose  successes  are  theirs. 
Beside,  how  and  where  should  a  man  of  sixty-eight  have 
formed  such  another  attachment  as  this  with  Florentine,  who 
knew  his  ways,  and  at  whose  house  he  could  sing  "  La  Mere 
Godichon  "  with  his  friends?  So  the  little  man  found  him- 
self under  a  half-matrimonial  yoke  of  irresistible  weight.  This 
was  the  age  of  brass. 

In  the  course  of  the  five  years  of  the  ages  of  gold  and  of 
silver,  Cardot  had  saved  ninety  thousand  francs.  The  old  man 
had  had  much  experience ;  he  foresaw  that  by  the  time  he  was 
seventy  Florentine  would  be  of  age ;  she  would  probably 
come  out  on  the  opera  stage,  and,  of  course,  expect  the  luxury 
and  splendor  of  a  leading  lady.  Only  a  few  days  before  the 
evening  now  to  be  described,  Cardot  had  spent  forty-five 
thousand  francs  in  establishing  his  Florentine  in  a  suitable 
style,  and  had  taken  for  her  the  apartment  where  the  now 


A   START  IN  LIFE,  355 

dead  Coralie  had  been  the  joy  of  Camusot.  In  Paris,  apart- 
ments and  houses,  like  streets,  have  a  destiny. 

Glorying  in  magnificent  plate,  the  leading  lady  of  the 
Gaite  gave  handsome  dinners,  spent  three  hundred  francs  a 
month  on  dress,  never  went  out  but  in  a  private  cabriolet,  and 
kept  a  maid,  a  cook,  and  a  page.  What  she  aimed  at,  indeed, 
was  a  command  to  dance  at  the  opera.  The  Cocon  d'Or  laid 
its  handsomest  products  at  the  feet  of  its  former  master  to 
please  Mademoiselle  Cabirolle,  known  as  Florentine,  just  as, 
three  years  since,  it  had  gratified  every  wish  of  Coralie's;  but 
still  without  the  knowledge  of  Uncle  Cardot's  daughter,  for 
the  father  and  his  son-in-law  had  always  agreed  that  decorum 
must  be  respected  at  home.  Madame  Camusot  knew  nothing 
of  her  husband's  extravagance  or  her  father's  habits. 

Now,  after  being  the  master  for  seven  years,  Cardot  felt 
himself  in  tow  of  a  pilot  whose  power  of  caprice  was  unlimited. 
But  the  unhappy  old  fellow  was  in  love.  Florentine  alone 
must  close  his  eyes,  and  he  meant  to  leave  her  a  hundred 
thousand  francs.  The  age  of  iron  had  begun. 

Georges  Marest,  handsome,  young,  and  rich,  with  thirty 
thousand  francs  a  year,  was  paying  court  to  Florentine.  Every 
dancer  is  by  way  of  loving  somebody  as  her  protector  loves 
her,  and  having  a  young  man  to  escort  her  out  walking  or 
driving,  and  arrange  excursions  into  the  country.  And,  how- 
ever disinterested,  the  affections  of  a  leading  lady  are  always 
a  luxury,  costing  the  happy  object  of  her  choice  some  little 
trifle.  Dinners  at  the  best  restaurants,  boxes  at  the  play, 
carriages  for  driving  in  the  environs  of  Paris,  and  choice 
wines  lavishly  consumed — for  ballet-dancers  live  now  like  the 
athletes  of  antiquity. 

Georges,  in  short,  amused  himself  as  young  men  do  who 
suddenly  find  themselves  independent  of  paternal  discipline ; 
and  his  uncle's  death,  almost  doubling  his  income,  enlarged 
his  ideas.  So  long  as  he  had  but  the  eighteen  thousand  francs 
a  year  left  him  by  his  parents  he  intended  to  be  a  notary; 


356  A  START  IN  LIFE. 

but,  as  his  cousin  remarked  to  Desroches'  clerks,  a  man  would 
be  a  noodle  to  start  in  a  profession  with  as  much  money  as 
others  have  when  they  give  it  up.  So  the  retiring  law-clerk 
was  celebrating  his  first  day  of  freedom  by  this  breakfast, 
which  was  also  to  pay  his  cousin's  footing. 

Frederic,  more  prudent  than  Georges,  persisted  in  his  legal 
career. 

As  a  fine  young  fellow  like  Georges  might  very  well  marry 
a  rich  Creole,  and  the  Marquise  de  las  Florentinas  y  Cabirolos 
might  very  well  in  the  decline  of  life — as  Frederic  hinted  to 
his  new  companions — have  preferred  to  marry  for  beauty 
rather  than  for  noble  birth,  the  clerks  of  Desroches'  office — 
all  belonging  to  impecunious  families,  and  having  no  acquaint- 
ance with  the  fashionable  world — got  themselves  up  in  their 
Sunday  clothes,  all  impatience  to  see  the  Mexican  Marquesa 
de  las  Florentinas  y  Cabirolos. 

"What  good-luck,"  said  Oscar  to  Godeschal  as  he  dressed 
in  the  morning,  "  that  I  should  have  just  ordered  a  new  coat, 
vest,  trousers,  and  a  pair  of  boots,  and  that  my  precious 
mother  should  have  given  me  a  new  outfit  on  my  promotion 
to  be  second  clerk.  I  have  six  fine  shirts  with  frills  out  of 
the  dozen  she  gave  me.  We  will  make  a  good  show  ?  Oh  ! 
if  only  one  of  us  could  carry  off  the  marquise  from  that 
Georges  Marest !  " 

"A  pretty  thing  for  a  clerk  in  Maitre  Desroches'  office  !  " 
cried  Godeschal.  "Will  you  never  be  cured  of  your  vanity 
—brat !  " 

"Oh,  monsieur,"  said  Madame  Clapart,  who  had  just  come 
in  to  bring  her  son  some  ties,  and  heard  the  managing  clerk's 
remarks,  "  would  to  God  that  Oscar  would  follow  your  good 
advice  !  It  is  what  I  am  always  saying  to  him,  '  Imitate  Mon- 
sieur Godeschal,  take  his  advice,'  is  what  I  say." 

"He  is  getting  on,  madame,"  said  Godeschal,  "but  he 
must  not  often  be  so  clumsy  as  he  was  yesterday,  or  he  will 
lose  his  place  in  the  master's  good  graces.  Maitre  Desroches 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  357 


cannot  stand  a  man  who  is  beaten.  He  sent  your  son  on  his 
first  errand  yesterday,  to  fetch  away  the  copy  of  the  judg- 
ment delivered  in  a  will  case,  which  two  brothers,  men  of 
high  rank,  are  fighting  against  each  other,  and  Oscar  allowed 
himself  to  be  circumvented.  The  master  was  furious.  It  was 
all  I  could  do  to  set  things  straight  by  going  at  six  this  morn- 
ing to  find  the  copying-clerk,  and  I  made  him  promise  to  let 
me  have  the  judgment  in  black  and  white  by  seven  to-morrow 
morning." 

"Oh,  Godeschal,"  cried  Oscar,  going  up  to  his  superior 
and  grasping  his  hand,  "  you  are  a  true  friend  !  " 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  said  Madame  Clapart,  "it  is  a  happy 
thing  for  a  mother  to  feel  that  her  son  has  such  a  friend  as 
you,  and  you  may  believe  that  my  gratitude  will  end  only  with 
my  life.  Oscar,  beware  of  this  Georges  Marest ;  he  has  al- 
ready been  the  cause  of  your  first  misfortune  in  life." 

"  How  was  that  ?  "  asked  Godeschal. 

The  too-confiding  mother  briefly  told  the  head-clerk  the 
story  of  poor  Oscar's  adventure  in  Pierrotin's  chaise. 

"And  I  am  certain,"  added  Godeschal,  "that  the  humbug 
has  planned  some  trick  on  us  this  evening.  I  shall  not  go  to 
the  Marquise  de  las  Florentinas.  My  sister  needs  my  help  in 
drawing  up  a  fresh  engagement,  so  I  shall  leave  you  at  dessert. 
But  be  on  your  guard,  Oscar.  Perhaps  they  will  make  you 
gamble,  and  Desroches'  office  must  not  make  a  poor  mouth. 
Here,  you  can  stake  for  us  both ;  here  are  a  hundred  francs," 
said  the  kind  fellow,  giving  the  money  to  Oscar,  whose  purse 
had  been  drained  by  the  tailor  and  bootmaker.  "  Be  careful ; 
do  not  dream  of  playing  beyond  the  hundred  francs;  do  not 
let  play  or  wine  go  to  your  head.  By  the  mass !  even  a 
second  clerk  has  a  position  to  respect ;  he  must  not  play  on 
promissory-paper,  nor  overstep  a  due  limit  in  anything. 
When  a  man  is  second  clerk  he  must  remember  that  he  will 
presently  be  an  attorney.  So  not  to  drink,  not  to  play  high, 
and  to  be  moderate  in  all  things,  must  be  your  rule  of  con- 


358  A    START  IN  LIFE. 

duct.  Above  all,  be  in  by  midnight,  for  you  must  be  at  the 
Courts  by  seven  to  fetch  away  the  copy  of  that  judgment. 
There  is  no  law  against  some  fun,  but  business  holds  the  first 
place. ' ' 

"Do  you  hear,  Oscar?"  said  Madame  Clapart.  "And 
see  how  indulgent  Monsieur  Godeschal  is,  and  how  he  com- 
bines the  enjoyments  of  youth  with  the  demands  of  duty." 

Madame  Clapart,  seeing  the  tailor  and  bootmaker  waiting 
for  Oscar,  remained  behind  a  moment  with  Godeschal  to  re- 
turn the  hundred  francs  he  had  just  lent  the  boy. 

"A  mother's  blessing  be  on  you,  monsieur,  and  on  all  you 
do,"  said  she. 

The  mother  had  the  supreme  delight  of  seeing  her  boy  well 
dressed ;  she  had  bought  him  a  gold  watch,  purchased  out  of 
her  savings,  as  a  reward  for  his  good  conduct. 

"You  are  on  the  list  for  the  conscription  next  week,"  said 
she,  "  and  as  it  was  necessary  to  be  prepared  in  case  your 
number  should  be  drawn,  I  went  to  see  your  Uncle  Cardot;  he 
is  delighted  at  you  being  so  high  up  at  the  age  of  twenty,  and 
at  your  success  in  the  examinations  at  the  law-schools,  so  he 
has  promised  to  find  the  money  for  a  substitute.  Do  you  not 
yourself  feel  some  satisfaction  in  finding  good  conduct  so  well 
rewarded?  If  you  still  have  to  put  up  with  some  privations, 
think  of  the  joy  of  being  able  to  purchase  a  connection  in  only 
five  years  !  And  remember,  too,  dear  boy,  how  happy  you 
make  your  mother." 

Oscar's  face,  thinned  down  a  little  by  hard  study,  had  de- 
veloped into  a  countenance  to  which  habits  of  business  had 
given  a  look  of  gravity.  He  had  done  growing  and  had  a 
beard;  in  short,  from  a  boy  he  had  become  a  man.  His 
mother  could  not  but  admire  him,  and  she  kissed  him  fondly, 
saying — 

"Yes,  enjoy  yourself,  but  remember  Monsieur  Godeschal's 
advice.  By  the  way,  I  was  forgetting :  here  is  a  present  from 
our  friend  Moreau — a  pocketbook." 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  369 

"  The  very  thing  I  want,  for  the  chief  gave  me  five  hundred 
francs  to  pay  for  that  confounded  judgment  in  Vandenesse, 
and  I  did  not  want  to  leave  them  in  my  room." 

"Are  you  carrying  the  money  about  with  you?"  said  his 
mother  in  alarm.  "Supposing  you  were  to  lose  such  a  sum 
of  money  !  Would  you  not  do  better  to  leave  it  with  Mon- 
sieur Godeschal?" 

"  Godeschal !  "  cried  Oscar,  thinking  his  mother's  idea 
admirable. 

But  Godeschal,  like  all  clerks  on  Sunday,  had  his  day  to 
himself  from  ten  o'clock,  and  was  already  gone. 

When  his  mother  had  left,  Oscar  went  out  to  lounge  on  the 
boulevards  till  it  was  time  for  the  breakfast.  How  could  he 
help  airing  those  resplendent  clothes,  that  he  wore  with  such 
pride,  and  the  satisfaction  that  every  man  will  understand  who 
began  life  in  narrow  circumstances.  A  neat,  double-breasted, 
blue  cashmere  vest,  black  kerseymere  trousers  made  with 
pleats,  a  well-fitting  black  coat,  and  a  cane  with  a  silver-gilt 
knob,  bought  out  of  his  little  savings,  were  the  occasion  of 
very  natural  pleasure  to  the  poor  boy,  who  remembered  the 
clothes  he  had  worn  on  the  occasion  of  that  journey  to  Presles, 
and  the  effect  produced  on  his  mind  by  Georges. 

Oscar  looked  forward  to  a  day  of  perfect  bliss ;  he  was  to 
see  the  world  of  fashion  for  the  first  time  that  evening !  And 
it  must  be  admitted  that  to  a  lawyer's  clerk  starved  of  pleasure, 
who  had  for  long  been  craving  for  a  debauch,  the  sudden  play 
of  the  senses  was  enough  to  obliterate  the  wise  counsels  of 
Godeschal  and  his  mother.  To  the  shame  of  the  young  be  it 
said,  good  advice  and  warnings  are  never  to  seek.  Apart 
from  the  morning's  lecture,  Oscar  felt  an  instinctive  dislike  of 
Georges ;  he  was  humiliated  in  the  presence  of  a  man  who  had 
witnessed  the  scene  in  the  drawing-room  at  Presles,  when 
Moreau  had  dragged  him  to  the  count's  feet. 

The  moral  sphere  has  its  laws ;  and  we  are  always  punished 


360  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

if  we  ignore  them.  One,  especially,  the  very  beasts  obey  in- 
variably and  without  delay.  It  is  that  which  bids  us  fly  from 
any  one  who  has  once  injured  us,  voluntarily  or  involuntarily, 
intentionally  or  not.  The  being  who  has  brought  woe  or  dis- 
comfort on  us  is  always  odious.  Whatever  his  rank,  however 
near  be  the  ties  of  affection,  we  must  part.  He  is  the  emissary 
of  our  evil  genius.  Though  Christian  theory  is  opposed  to 
such  conduct,  obedience  to  this  inexorable  law  is  essentially 
social  and  preservative.  James  II. 's  daughter,*  who  sat  on  her 
father's  throne,  must  have  inflicted  more  than  one  wound  on 
him  before  her  usurpation.  Judas  must  certainly  have  given 
Jesus  some  mortal  thrust  or  ever  he  betrayed  Him.  There  is 
within  us  a  second-sight,  a  mind's  eye,  which  foresees  dis- 
asters ;  and  the  repugnance  we  feel  to  the  fateful  being  is  the 
consequence  of  this  prophetic  sense.  Though  religion  may 
command  us  to  resist  it,  distrust  remains  and  its  voice  should 
be  listened  to. 

Could  Oscar,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  be  so  prudent  ?  Alas  ! 
When,  at  two  o'clock,  Oscar  went  into  the  room  of  the 
Rocher  de  Cancale,  where  he  found  three  guests  beside  his 
fellow-clerks — to  wit,  an  old  dragoon  captain  named  Girou- 
deau;  Finot,  a  journalist  who  might  enable  Florentine  to  get 
an  engagement  at  the  opera;  and  du  Bruel,  an  author  and 
friend  of  Tullia's,  one  of  Mariette's  rivals  at  the  opera — the 
junior  felt  his  hostility  melt  away  under  the  first  hand-shaking, 
the  first  flow  of  talk  among  young  men,  as  they  sat  at  a  table 
handsomely  laid  for  twelve.  And  indeed  Georges  was  charm- 
ing to  Oscar. 

"You  are,"  said  he,  "following  a  diplomatic  career,  but 
in  private  concerns ;  for  what  is  the  difference  between  an 
ambassador  and  an  attorney  ?  Merely  that  which  divides  a 
nation  from  an  individual.  Ambassadors  are  the  attorneys  of 
a  people.  If  I  can  ever  be  of  any  use  to  you,  depend  on 
me." 

*  Mary  II.,  Queen  of  England. 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  381 

"  My  word  !  I  may  tell  you  now,"  said  Oscar,  "  you  were 
the  cause  of  a  terrible  catastrophe  for  me." 

"  Pooh  !  "  said  Georges,  after  listening  to  the  history  of  the 
lad's  tribulations.  "  It  was  Monsieur  de  Serizy  who  behaved 
badly.  His  wife  ?  I  would  not  have  her  at  a  gift.  And 
although  the  count  is  a  minister  of  State  and  peer  of  France,  I 
would  not  be  in  his  red  skin  !  He  is  a  small-minded  man,  and 
I  can  afford  to  despise  him  now." 

Oscar  listened  with  pleasure  to  Georges'  ironies  on  the 
Comte  de  Serizy,  for  they  seemed  to  diminish  the  gravity 
of  his  own  fault,  and  he  threw  himself  into  the  young  man's 
spirit  as  he  predicted  that  overthrow  of  the  nobility  of  which 
the  citizen  class  then  had  visions,  to  be  realized  in  1830. 

They  sat  down  at  half-past  three ;  dessert  was  not  on  the 
table  before  eight.  Each  course  of  dishes  lasted  two  hours. 
None  but  law-clerks  can  eat  so  steadily  !  Digestions  of  eigh- 
teen and  twenty  are  inexplicable  to  the  medical  faculty.  The 
wine  was  worthy  of  Borrel,  who  had  at  that  time  succeeded 
the  illustrious  Balaine,  the  creator  of  the  very  best  restaurant 
in  Paris — and  that  is  to  say  in  the  world — for  refined  and  per- 
fect cookery. 

A  full  report  of  this  Belshazzar's  feast  was  drawn  up  at 
dessert,  beginning  with — Inter  pocula  aurea  restauranti,  qui 
vulgo  dicitur  Rupes  Cancalia  :  and  from  this  introduction  the 
rapturous  record  may  be  imagined  which  was  added  to  this 
Golden  Book  of  the  High  Festivals  of  the  Law. 

Godeschal  disappeared  after  signing  his  name,  leaving  the 
eleven  feasters,  prompted  by  the  old  captain  of  the  Imperial 
Dragoons,  to  devote  themselves  to  the  wine,  the  liqueurs,  and 
the  toasts,  over  a  dessert  of  pyramids  of  sweets  and  fruits  like 
those  of  Thebes.  By  half-past  ten  the  "boy"  of  the  office 
was  in  a  state  which  necessitated  his  removal ;  Georges  packed 
him  into  a  cab,  gave  the  driver  his  mother's  address,  and  paid 
his  fare.  Then  the  ten  remaining  guests,  as  drunk  as  Pitt  and 
Dundas,  talked  of  going  on  foot  by  the  boulevards,  the 


362  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

night  being  very  fine,  as  far  as  the  residence  of  the  marquise, 
where,  at  a  little  before  midnight,  they  would  find  a  brilliant 
company.  The  whole  party  longed  to  fill  their  lungs  with 
fresh  air ;  but  excepting  Georges,  Giroudeau,  Finot,  and  du 
Bruel,  all  accustomed  to  Parisian  orgies,  no  one  could  walk. 
So  Georges  sent  for  three  open  carriages  from  a  livery-stable, 
and  took  the  whole  party  for  an  airing  on  the  outer  boulevards 
for  an  hour,  from  Montmartre  to  the  Barriere  du  Trone,  and 
back  by  Bercy,  the  quays,  and  the  boulevards  to  the  Rue  de 
Vendome. 

The  youngsters  were  still  floating  in  the  paradise  of  fancy 
to  which  intoxication  transports  boys,  when  their  entertainer 
led  them  into  Florentine's  rooms.  Here  sat  a  dazzling 
assembly  of  the  queens  of  the  stage,  who,  at  a  hint,  no  doubt, 
from  Frederic,  amused  themselves  by  aping  the  manners  of 
fine  ladies.  Ices  were  handed  round,  the  chandeliers  blazed 
with  wax-lights.  Tullia's  footman,  with  those  of  Madame  du 
Val-Noble  and  Florine,  all  in  gaudy  livery,  carried  round 
sweetmeats  on  silver  trays.  The  hangings,  choice  products 
of  the  looms  of  Lyons,  and  looped  with  gold  cord,  dazzled  the 
eye.  The  flowers  of  the  carpet  suggested  a  garden-bed. 
Costly  toys  and  curiosities  glittered  on  all  sides.  At  first,  and 
in  the  obfuscated  state  to  which  Georges  had  brought  them, 
the  clerks,  and  Oscar  in  particular,  believed  in  the  genuine- 
ness of  the  Marquesa  de  las  Florentinas  y  Cabirolos. 

On  four  tables  set  out  for  play  gold-pieces  lay  in  glittering 
heaps.  In  the  drawing-room  the  women  were  playing  at 
Vingt-et-un,  Nathan,  the  famous  author,  holding  the  deal. 
Thus,  after  being  carried  tipsy  and  half-asleep  along  the 
dimly-lighted  boulevards,  the  clerks  woke  to  find  themselves 
in  Armida's  Palace.  Oscar,  on  being  introduced  by  Georges 
to  the  sham  marquise,  stood  dumfounded,  not  recognizing 
the  ballet-dancer  from  the  Gaite  in  an  elegant  dress  cut  aristo- 
cratically low  at  the  neck  and  richly  trimmed  with  lace — a 
woman  looking  like  a  vignette  in  a  keepsake,  who  received 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  363 

them  with  an  air  and  manners  that  had  no  parallel  in  the  ex- 
perience or  the  imagination  of  a  youth  so  strictly  bred  as  he 
had  been.  After  he  had  admired  all  the  splendor  of  the 
rooms,  the  beautiful  women  who  displayed  themselves  and  who 
had  vied  with  each  other  in  dress  for  this  occasion — the  in- 
auguration of  all  this  magnificence — Florentine  took  Oscar 
by  the  hand  and  led  him  to  the  table  where  Vingt-et-un  was 
going  on. 

"  Come,  let  me  introduce  you  to  the  handsome  Marquise 
d'Anglade,  one  of  my  friends — 

And  she  took  the  hapless  Oscar  up  to  pretty  Fanny  Beaupr6, 
who,  for  the  last  two  years,  had  filled  poor  Coralie's  place  in 
Camusot's  affections.  The  young  actress  had  just  achieved  a 
reputation  in  the  part  of  a  marquise  in  a  melodrama  at  the 
Porte-Sainte-Martin,  called  the  Famille  d'Anglade,  one  of  the 
successes  of  the  day. 

"  Here,  my  dear,"  said  Florentine,  "  allow  me  to  introduce 
to  you  a  charming  youth  who  can  be  your  partner  in  the 
game." 

"Oh  !  that  will  be  very  nice?"  replied  the  actress,  with 
a  fascinating  smile,  as  she  looked  Oscar  down  from  head  to 
foot.  "  I  am  losing.  We  will  go  shares,  if  you  like." 

"  I  am  at  your  orders,  Madame  la  Marquise,"  said  Oscar, 
taking  a  seat  by  her  side. 

"You  shall  stake,"  said  she,  "  and  I  will  play.  You  will 

bring  me  luck  !  There,  that  is  my  last  hundred  francs " 

And  the  sham  marquise  took  out  a  purse  of  which  the  rings 
were  studded  with  diamonds,  and  produced  five  gold-pieces. 
Oscar  brought  out  his  hundred  francs  in  five-franc  pieces, 
already  shamefaced  at  mingling  the  ignoble  silver  cart-wheels 
with  the  gold  coin.  In  ten  rounds  the  actress  had  lost  the 
two  hundred  francs. 

"Come!  this  is  stupid!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  will  take 
the  bank.  We  will  still  be  partners  ?  "  she  asked  of  Oscar. 

Fanny  Beaupre  rose,  and  the  lad,  who,  like  her,  was  now 


364  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

the  centre  of  attention  to  the  whole  table,  dared  not  with- 
draw, saying  that  the  devil  alone  was  lodged  in  his  purse. 
He  was  speechless,  his  tongue  felt  heavy  and  stuck  to  his 
palate. 

"Lend  me  five  hundred  francs,"  said  the  actress  to  the 
dancer. 

Florentine  brought  her  five  hundred  francs,  which  she  bor- 
rowed of  Georges,  who  had  just  won  at  ecarte  eight  times 
running. 

"Nathan  has  won  twelve  hundred  francs,"  said  the  actress 
to  the  clerk.  "The  dealer  always  wins;  do  not  let  us  be 
made  fools  of,"  she  whispered  in  his  ear. 

Every  man  of  feeling,  of  imagination,  of  spirit,  will  under- 
stand that  poor  Oscar  could  not  help  opening  his  pocketbook 
and  taking  out  the  five-hundred-franc  note.  He  looked  at 
Nathan,  the  famous  writer,  who,  in  partnership  with  Florine, 
staked  high  against  the  dealer. 

"Now  then,  boy,  sweep  it  in!"  cried  Fanny  Beaupre, 
signing  to  Oscar  to  take  up  two  hundred  francs  that  Florine 
and  Nathan  had  lost. 

The  actress  did  not  spare  the  losers  her  banter  and  jests. 
She  enlivened  the  game  by  remarks  of  a  character  which 
Oscar  thought  strange ;  but  delight  stifled  these  reflections,  for 
the  two  first  deals  brought  in  winnings  of  two  thousand  francs. 
Oscar  longed  to  be  suddenly  taken  ill  and  to  fly,  leaving 
his  partner  to  her  fate,  but  honor  forbade  it.  Three  more 
deals  had  carried  away  the  profits.  Oscar  felt  the  cold  sweat 
down  his  spine ;  he  was  quite  sobered  now.  The  two  last 
rounds  absorbed  a  thousand  francs  staked  by  the  partners; 
Oscar  felt  thirsty  and  drank  off  three  glasses  of  iced  punch. 

The  actress  led  him  into  an  adjoining  room,  talking  non- 
sense to  divert  him ;  but  the  sense  of  his  error  so  completely 
overwhelmed  Oscar,  to  whom  Desroches'  face  appeared  like  a 
vision  in  a  dream,  that  he  sank  on  to  a  splendid  ottoman  in  a 
dark  corner  and  hid  his  face  in  his  handkerchief.  He  was 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  355 

fairly  crying.  Florentine  detected  him  in  this  attitude,  too 
sincere  not  to  strike  an  actress;  she  hurried  up  to  Oscar, 
pulled  away  the  handkerchief,  and  seeing  his  tears  led  him 
into  a  boudoir. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  boy?"  said  she. 

To  this  voice,  these  words,  this  tone,  Oscar,  recognizing 
the  motherliness  of  a  courtesan's  kindness,  replied — 

"I  have  lost  five  hundred  francs  that  my  master  gave  me 
to  pay  to-morrow  morning  for  a  judgment ;  there  is  nothing 
for  it  but  to  throw  myself  into  the  river;  I  am  disgraced." 

"How  can  you  be  so  silly?"  cried  Florentine.  "Stay 
where  you  are,  I  will  bring  you  a  thousand  francs.  Try  to 
recover  it  all,  but  only  risk  five  hundred  francs,  so  as  to  keep 
your  chief's  money.  Georges  plays  a  first-rate  game  at 
ecarte;  bet  on  him." 

Oscar,  in  his  dreadful  position,  accepted  the  offer  of  the 
mistress  of  the  house. 

"  Ah  !  "  thought  he,  "  none  but  a  marquise  would  be  capa- 
ble of  such  an  action.  Beautiful,  noble,  and  immensely  rich  ! 
Georges  is  a  lucky  dog  !  " 

He  received  a  thousand  francs  in  gold  from  the  hands  of 
Florentine,  and  went  to  bet  on  the  man  who  had  played  him 
this  trick.  The  punters  were  pleased  at  the  arrival  of  a  new 
man,  for  they  all,  with  the  instinct  of  gamblers,  went  over  to 
the  side  of  Giroudeau,  the  old  Imperial  officer. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Georges,  "you  will  be  punished  for 
your  defection,  for  I  am  in  luck.  Come,  Oscar ;  we  will  do 
for  them." 

But  Georges  and  his  backer  lost  five  games  running.  Hav- 
ing thrown  away  his  thousand  francs,  Oscar,  carried  away  by 
the  gambling  fever,  insisted  on  holding  the  cards.  As  a 
result  of  the  luck  that  often  favors  a  beginner,  he  won  ;  but 
Georges  puzzled  him  with  advice ;  he  told  him  how  to  discard, 
and  frequently  snatched  his  hand  from  him,  so  that  the  con- 
flict  of  two  wills,  two  minds,  spoiled  the  run  of  luck.  In 


366  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

short,  by  three  in  the  morning,  after  many  turns  of  fortune, 
and  unhoped-for  recoveries,  still  drinking  punch,  Oscar  found 
himself  possessed  of  no  more  than  a  hundred  francs.  He  rose 
from  the  table,  his  brain  heavy  and  dizzy,  walked  a  few  steps, 
and  dropped  on  to  a  sofa  in  the  boudoir,  his  eyes  sealed  in 
leaden  slumbers. 

"  Mariette,"  said  Fanny  Beaupre  to  Godeschal's  sister, 
who  had  come  in  at  about  two  in  the  morning,  "will  you  dine 
here  to-morrow?  My  Camusot  will  be  here  and  Father  Car- 
dot;  we  will  make  them  mad." 

"How?  "cried  Florentine.  "My  old  man  has  not  sent 
me  word." 

"  He  will  be  here  this  morning  to  tell  you  that  he  proposes 
to  sing  '  la  Mere  Godichon,'  "  replied  Fanny  Beaupre.  "  He 
must  give  a  house-warming  too,  poor  man." 

"  The  devil  take  him  and  his  orgies  !  "  exclaimed  Floren- 
tine. "  He  and  his  son-in-law  are  worse  than  magistrates  or 
managers.  After  all,  Mariette,  you  dine  well  here,"  she  went 
on.  "  Cardot  orders  everything  from  Chevet.  Bring  your 
Due  de  Maufrigneuse;  we  will  have  fun,  and  make  them  all 
dance." 

Oscar,  who  caught  the  names  of  Cardot  and  Camusot,  made 
an  effort  to  rouse  himself;  but  he  could  only  mutter  a  word 
or  two  which  were  not  heard,  and  fell  back  on  the  silk 
cushion. 

"You  are  provided,  I  see,"  said  Fanny  Beaupre  to  Floren- 
tine, with  a  laugh. 

"  Ah  !  poor  boy,  he  is  drunk  with  punch  and  despair.  He 
has  lost  some  money  his  master  had  intrusted  to  him  for  some 
office  business.  He  was  going  to  kill  himself,  so  I  lent  him  a 
thousand  francs,  of  which  those  robbers  Finot  and  Giroudeau 
have  fleeced  him.  Poor  innocent !  " 

"But  we  must  wake  him,"  said  Mariette.  "  My  brother 
will  stand  no  nonsense,  nor  his  master  either." 

"Well,  wake  him  if  you  can,  and  get  him  away,"   said 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  307 

Florentine,  going  back  into  the  drawing-room  to  take  leave  of 
those  who  were  not  gone. 

The  party  then  took  to  dancing — character  dances,  as  they 
were  called ;  and  at  daybreak  Florentine  went  to  bed  very 
tired,  having  forgotten  Oscar,  whom  nobody,  in  fact,  remem- 
bered, and  who  was  still  sleeping  soundly. 

At  about  eleven  o'clock  a  terrible  sound  awoke  the  lad,  who 
recognized  his  Uncle  Cardot's  voice,  and  thought  he  might 
get  out  of  the  scrape  by  pretending  still  to  be  asleep,  so  he 
hid  his  face  in  the  handsome,  yellow  velvet  cushions  on  which 
he  had  passed  the  night. 

"Really,  my  little  Florentine,"  the  old  man  was  saying, 
"  it  is  neither  good  nor  nice  of  you.  You  were  dancing  last 
night  in  the  Ruines,  and  then  spent  the  night  in  an  orgy. 
Why,  it  is  simply  destruction  to  your  freshness,  not  to  say 
that  it  is  really  ungrateful  of  you  to  inaugurate  this  splendid 
apartment  without  me,  with  strangers,  without  my  knowing  it 
— who  knows  what  may  have  happened  !  " 

"  You  old  monster  !  "  cried  Florentine.  "  Have  you  not  a 
key  to  come  in  whenever  you  like  ?  We  danced  till  half-past 
five,  and  you  are  so  cruel  as  to  wake  me  at  eleven." 

"  Half-past  eleven,  Titine,"  said  the  old  man  humbly.  "  I 
got  up  early  to  order  a  dinner  from  Chevet  worthy  of  an 
archbishop.  How  they  have  spoilt  the  carpets !  Whom  had 
you  here  ?  ' ' 

"You  ought  to  make  no  complaints,  for  Fanny  Beaupre" 
told  me  that  you  and  Camusot  were  coming,  so  I  have  asked 
the  others  to  meet  you — Tullia,  du  Bruel,  Mariette,  the  Due 
de  Maufrigneuse,  Florine,  and  Nathan.  So  you  will  have 
the  five  loveliest  women  who  ever  stood  behind  the  footlights, 
and  we  will  dance  you  a  pas  de  Zephire" 

"  It  is  killing  work  to  lead  such  a  life  !  "  cried  old  Cardot. 
"What  a  heap  of  broken  glasses,  what  destruction!  The 
anteroom  is  a  scene  of  horror ! " 

At  this  moment  the  amiable  old  man  stood  speechless  and 


368  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

fascinated,  like  a  bird  under  the  gaze  of  a  reptile.  He  caught 
sight  of  the  outline  of  a  young  figure  clothed  in  black  cloth. 

"  Heyday  !  Mademoiselle  Cabirolle  !  "  said  he  at  last. 

"Well,  what  now?"  said  she. 

The  girl's  eyes  followed  the  direction  of  Pere  Cardot's 
gaze,  and  when  she  saw  the  youth  still  there,  she  burst  into  a 
fit  of  crazy  laughter,  which  not  only  struck  the  old  man  dumb, 
but  compelled  Oscar  to  look  round.  Florentine  pulled  him 
up  by  the  arm,  and  half  choked  with  laughter  as  she  saw  the 
hang-dog  look  of  the  uncle  and  nephew. 

"  You  here,  nephew?  " 

"Oh  ho!  He  is  your  nephew?"  cried  Florentine,  laugh- 
ing more  than  ever.  "You  never  mentioned  this  nephew  of 
yours.  Then  Mariette  did  not  take  you  home?  "  said  she  to 
Oscar,  who  sat  petrified.  "  What  is  to  become  of  the  poor 
boy?" 

"Whatever  he  pleases!"  replied  old  Cardot  drily  and 
turning  to  the  door  to  go  away. 

"  One  minute,  Papa  Cardot ;  you  will  have  to  help  your 
nephew  out  of  the  mess  he  has  gotten  into  by  my  fault,  for  he 
has  gambled  away  his  master's  money,  five  hundred  francs,  be-, 
side  a  thousand  francs  of  mine  which  I  lent  him  to  get  it 
back  again." 

"Wretched  boy,  have  you  lost  fifteen  hundred  francs  at 
play — at  your  age  ? ' ' 

"Oh!  uncle,  uncle!"  cried  the  unhappy  Oscar,  cast  by 
these  words  into  the  depths  of  horror  at  his  position.  He  fell 
on  his  knees  at  his  uncle's  feet  with  clasped  hands.  "It  is 
twelve  o'clock ;  I  am  lost,  disgraced.  Monsieur  Desroches 
will  show  no  mercy — there  was  an  important  business,  a  matter 
on  which  he  prides  himself — I  was  to  have  gone  this  morning 
to  fetch  away  the  copy  of  the  judgment  in  Vandenesse  v.  Van- 
den  esse  !  What  has  happened?  What  will  become  of  me? 
Save  me  for  my  father's  sake — for  my  aunt's.  Come  with  me 
to  Maitre  Desroches  and  explain  ;  find  some  excuse " 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  369 

The  words  came  out  in  gasps,  between  sobs  and  tears  that 
might  have  softened  the  Sphinx  in  the  desert  of  Luxor. 

"Now,  old  skinflint,"  cried  the  dancer  in  tears,  "can  you 

leave  your  own  nephew  to  disgrace,  the  son  of  the  man  to 

whom   you   owe   your   fortune,  since  he    is    Oscar  Husson? 

Save  him,  I  say,  or  Titine  refuses  to  own  you  as  her  milord  !  " 

But  how  came  he  here?"  asked  the  old  man. 

"  What !  so  as  to  forget  the  hour  when  he  should  have  gone 
the  errand  he  speaks  of?  Don't  you  see,  he  got  drunk  and 
dropped  there,  dead-tired  and  sleepy  ?  Georges  and  his  cousin 
Frederic  treated  Desroches'  clerks  yesterday  at  the  Rocher  de 
Cancale." 

Cardot  looked  at  her,  still  doubtful. 

"  Come,  now,  old  baboon,  if  it  were  anything  more  should 
I  not  have  hidden  him  more  effectually?  "  cried  she. 

"Here,  then,  take  the  five  hundred  francs,  you  scamp!  " 
said  Cardot  to  his  nephew.  "  That  is  all  you  will  ever  have 
of  me.  Go  and  make  matters  up  with  your  master  if  you  can. 
I  will  repay  the  thousand  francs  mademoiselle  lent  you,  but 
never  let  me  hear  your  name  again." 

Oscar  fled,  not  wishing  to  hear  more  ;  but  when  he  was  in 
the  street  he  did  not  know  where  to  go. 

The  chance  which  ruins  men,  and  the  chance  that  serves 
them,  seemed  to  be  playing  against  each  other  on  equal  terms 
for  Oscar  that  dreadful  morning;  but  he  was  destined  to  fail 
with  a  master  who,  when  he  made  up  his  mind,  never 
changed  it. 

Mariette,  on  returning  home,  horrified  at  what  might  befall 
her  brother's  charge,  wrote  aline  to  Godeschal,  inclosing  a 
five-hundred-franc  note,  and  telling  her  brother  of  Oscar's 
drunken  bout  and  disasters.  The  good  woman,  ere  she  went 
to  sleep,  instructed  her  nlaid  to  take  this  letter  to  Desroches' 
chambers  before  seven.  Godeschal,  on  his  part,  waking  at 
six,  found  no  Oscar.  He"  at  once  guessed  what  had  happened. 
24 


370  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

He  took  five  hundred  francs  out  of  his  savings  and  hurried  off 
to  the  copying-clerk  to  fetch  the  judgment,  so  as  to  lay  it 
before  Desroches  for  signature  in  his  office  at  eight.  Des- 
roches,  who  always  rose  at  four,  came  to  his  room  at  seven 
o'clock.  Mariette's  maid,  not  finding  her  mistress'  brother 
in  his  attic,  went  down  to  the  office  and  was  there  met  by 
Desroches,  to  whom  she  very  naturally  gave  the  note. 

"Is  it  a  matter  of  business?"  asked  the  lawyer.  "lam 
Maitre  Desroches." 

"You  can  see,  monsieur,"  said  the  woman. 

Desroches  opened  the  letter  and  read  it.  On  finding  the 
five-hundred-franc  note  he  went  back  into  his  own  room,  furi- 
ous with  his  second  clerk.  Then  at  half- past  seven  he  heard 
Godeschal  dictating  a  report  on  the  judgment  to  another 
clerk,  and  a  few  minutes  later  Godeschal  came  into  the  room 
in  triumph. 

"  Was  it  Oscar  Husson  who  went  to  Simon  this  morning  ?  " 
asked  Desroches. 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  replied  Godeschal. 

"Who  gave  him  the  money?"  said  the  lawyer. 

"You,"  said  Godeschal,  "on  Saturday." 

"  It  rains  five-hundred-franc  notes,  it  would  seem  !  "  cried 
Desroches.  "  Look  here,  Godeschal,  you  are  a  good  fellow, 
but  that  little  wretch  Husson  does  not  deserve  your  generosity. 
I  hate  a  fool,  but  yet  more  I  hate  people  who  will  go  wrong 
in  spite  of  the  care  of  those  who  are  kind  to  them."  He 
gave  Godeschal  Mariette's  note  and  the  five  hundred  francs 
she  had  sent.  "  Forgive  me  for  opening  it,  but  the  maid 
said  it  was  a  matter  of  business.  You  must  get  rid  of  Oscar." 

"What  trouble  I  have  had  with  that  poor  little  ne'er-do- 
well  !  "  said  Godeschal.  "  That  scoundrel  Georges  Marest 
is  his  evil  genius ;  he  must  avoid  him  like  the  plague,  for  I 
do  not  know  what  might  happen  if  they  met  a  third  time." 

"  How  is  that  ?"  asked  Desroches,  and  Godschal  sketched 
the  story  of  the  practical  joking  on  the  journey  to  Presles. 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  371 

"To  be  sure,"  said  the  lawyer.  "I  remember  Joseph 
Bridau  told  me  something  about  that  at  the  tirr.-.  It  was  to 
that  meeting  that  we  owed  the  Comte  de  Serizy's  interest  in 
Bridau's  brother." 

At  this  moment  Moreau  came  in,  for  this  suit  over  the  Van- 
denesse  property  was  an  important  affair  to  him.  The  mar- 
quis wanted  to  sell  the  Vandenesse  estate  in  lots,  and  his 
brother  opposed  such  a  proceeding. 

Thus  the  land  agent  was  the  recipient  of  the  justifiable 
complaints  and  sinister  prophecies  fulminated  by  Desroches 
as  against  his  second  clerk  ;  and  the  unhappy  boy's  most 
friendly  protector  was  forced  to  the  conclusion  that  Oscar's 
vanity  was  incorrigible. 

"  Make  a  pleader  of  him,"  said  Desroches  ;  "  he  only  has 
to  pass  his  final ;  in  that  branch  of  the  law  his  faults  may 
prove  to  be  useful  qualities,  for  conceit  spurs  the  tongue  of 
half  of  our  advocates." 

As  it  happened,  Clapart  was  at  this  time  out  of  health,  and 
nursed  by  his  wife,  a  painful  and  thankless  task.  The  man 
worried  the  poor  soul,  who  had  hitherto  never  known  how 
odious  the  nagging  and  spiteful  taunts  can  be  in  which  a  half- 
imbecile  creature  gives  vent  to  his  irritation  when  poverty 
drives  him  into  a  sort  of  cunning  rage.  Delighted  to  have  a 
sharp  dagger  that  he  could  drive  home  to  her  motherly  heart, 
he  had  suspected  the  fears  for  the  future  which  were  suggested 
to  the  hapless  woman  by  Oscar's  conduct  and  faults.  In  fact, 
when  a  mother  has  received  such  a  blow  as  she  had  felt  from 
the  adventure  at  Presles  she  lives  in  perpetual  alarm  ;  and  by 
the  way  in  which  Madame  Clapart  cried  up  Oscar  whenever 
he  achieved  a  success,  Clapart  understood  all  her  secret  fears 
and  would  stir  them  up  on  the  slightest  pretext. 

"  Well,  well,  Oscar  is  getting  on  better  than  I  expected  of 
him  ;  I  always  said  his  journey  to  Presles  was  only  a  blunder 
due  to  inexperience.  Where  is  the  young  man  who  never 
made  a  mistake?  Poor,  boy,  he  is  heroic  in  his  endurance 


372  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

of  the  privations  he  would  never  have  known  if  his  father 
had  lived.  God  grant  he  may  control  his  passions  !  "  and  so 
on. 

So,  while  so  many  disasters  were  crowding  on  each  other 
in  the  Rue  de  Vendome  and  the  Rue  de  Bethisy,  Clapart, 
sitting  by  the  fire  wrapped  in  a  shabby  dressing-gown,  was 
watching  his  wife,  who  was  busy  cooking  over  the  bedroom 
fire  some  soup,  Clapart's  herb  tea,  and  her  own  breakfast. 

"  Good  heavens !  I  wish  I  knew  how  things  fell  out  yester- 
day. Oscar  was  to  breakfast  at  the  Rocher  de  Cancale,  and 
spend  the  evening  with  some  marquise " 

"Oh!  don't  be  in  a  hurry;  sooner  or  later  murder  will 
out,"  retorted  her  husband.  "Do  you  believe  in  the  mar- 
quise ?  Go  on ;  a  boy  who  has  his  five  senses  and  a  love  of 
extravagance — as  Oscar  has,  after  all — can  find  marquises  on 
every  bush  costing  their  weight  in  gold  !  He  will  come  home 
some  day  loaded  with  debt " 

"You  don't  know  how  to  be  cruel  enough,  and  to  drive 
me  to  despair!"  exclaimed  Madame  Clapart.  "You  com- 
plained that  my  son  ate  up  all  your  salary,  and  he  never  cost 
you  a  sou.  For  two  years  you  have  not  had  a  fault  to  find 
with  Oscar,  and  now  he  is  second  clerk,  his  uncle  and  Mon- 
sieur Moreau  provide  him  with  everything,  and  he  has  eight 
hundred  francs  a  year  of  his  own  earning.  If  we  have  bread 
in  our  old  age,  we  shall  owe  it  to  that  dear  boy.  You  really 
are  too  unjust." 

"You  consider  my  foresight  an  injustice?"  said  the  sick 
man  sourly. 

There  came  at  this  moment  a  sharp  ring  at  the  bell. 
Madame  Clapart  ran  to  open  the  door,  and  then  remained  in 
the  outer  room,  talking  to  Moreau,  who  had  come  himself  to 
soften  the  blow  that  the  news  of  Oscar's  levity  must  be  to  his 
poor  mother. 

"What!  He  lost  his  master's  money?"  cried  Madame 
Clapart  in  tears. 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  375 

"Aha!  what  did  I  tell  you?"  said  Clapart,  who  appeared 
like  a  spectre  in  the  doorway  of  the  drawing-room,  to  which 
he  had  shuffled  across  under  the  prompting  of  overweening 
curiosity. 

"But  what  is  to  be  done  with  him?"  said  his  wife,  whose 
distress  left  her  insensible  to  this  stab. 

"Well,  if  he  bore  my  name,"  said  Moreau,  "I  should 
calmly  allow  him  to  be  drawn  for  the  conscription,  and  if  he 
should  be  called  to  serve,  I  would  not  pay  for  a  substitute. 
This  is  the  second  time  that  sheer  vanity  has  brought  him  into 
mischief.  Well,  vanity  may  lead  him  to  some  brilliant  action, 
which  will  win  him  promotion  as  a  soldier.  Six  years'  service 
will  at  any  rate  add  a  little  weight  to  his  feather-brain,  and 
as  he  has  only  his  final  examination  to  pass,  he  will  not  do 
so  badly  if  he  finds  himself  a  pleader  at  six-and-twenty,  if  he 
chooses  to  go  to  the  bar  after  paying  the  blood-tax,  as  they 
say.  This  time,  at  any  rate,  he  will  have  had  his  punishment, 
he  will  gain  experience  and  acquire  habits  of  subordination. 
He  will  have  served  his  apprenticeship  to  life  before  serving 
it  in  the  Law  Courts." 

"  If  that  is  the  sentence  you  would  pronounce  on  a  son," 
said  Madame  Clapart,  "I  see  that  a  father's  heart  is  very 
unlike  a  mother's.  My  poor  Oscar — a  soldier ?" 

"Would  you  rather  see  him  jump  head-foremost  into  the 
Seine  after  doing  something  to  disgrace  himself?  He  can  never 
now  be  an  attorney ;  do  you  think  he  is  fitted  yet  to  be  an 
advocate?  While  waiting  till  he  reaches  years  of  discretion, 
what  will  he  become?  A  thorough  scamp;  military  disci- 
pline will  at  any  rate  preserve  him  from  that." 

"  Could  he  not  go  into  another  office?  His  Uncle  Cardot 
would  certainly  pay  for  a  substitute — and  Oscar  will  dedicate 
his  thesis  to  him " 

The  clatter  of  a  cab,  in  which  was  piled  all  Oscar's  persona! 
property,  announced  the  wretched  lad's  return,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  he  made  his  appearance. 


374  A  START  IN  LIFE. 

"So  here  you  are,  Master  Joli-Coeur !  "*  exclaimed  Cla- 
part. 

Oscar  kissed  his  mother,  and  held  out  a  hand  to  Monsieur 
Moreau,  which  that  gentleman  would  not  take.  Oscar  an- 
swered this  contempt  with  a  look  to  which  reproach  lent  a 
firmness  new  to  the  bystanders. 

"Listen,  Monsieur  Clapart,"  said  the  boy,  so  suddenly 
grown  to  be  a  man;  "you  worry  my  poor  mother  beyond 
endurance,  and  you  have  a  right  to  do  so  ;  she  is  your  wife — 
for  her  sins.  But  it  is  different  with  me.  In  a  few  months  I 
shall  be  of  age,  and  you  have  no  power  over  me  even  while  I 
am  a  minor.  I  have  never  asked  you  for  anything.  Thanks 
to  this  gentleman,  I  have  never  cost  you  one  sou,  and  I  owe 
you  no  sort  of  gratitude ;  so,  have  the  goodness  to  leave  me 
in  peace." 

Clapart,  startled  by  this  apostrophe,  went  back  to  his  arm- 
chair by  the  fire.  The  reasoning  of  the  lawyer's  clerk  and 
the  suppressed  fury  of  a  young  man  of  twenty,  who  had  just 
had  a  sharp  lecture  from  his  friend  Godeschal,  had  reduced 
the  sick  man's  imbecility  to  silence,  once  and  for  all. 

"An  error  into  which  you  would  have  been  led  quite  as  easily 
as  I,  at  my  age,"  said  Oscar  to  Moreau,  "  made  me  commit  a 
fault  which  Desroches  thinks  serious,  but  which  is  really  trivial 
enough ;  I  am  far  more  vexed  with  myself  for  having  taken 
Florentine  of  the  Gaite  Theatre,  for  a  marquise,  and  actresses 
for  women  of  rank,  than  for  having  lost  fifteen  hundred  francs 
at  a  little  orgy  where  everybody,  even  Godeschal,  was  some- 
what screwed.  This  time,  at  any  rate,  I  have  hurt  no  one 
but  myself.  I  am  thoroughly  cured.  If  you  will  help  me, 
Monsieur  Moreau,  I  swear  to  you  that  in  the  course  of  the 
six  years  during  which  I  must  remain  a  clerk  before  I  can 
practice " 

"Stop  a  bit  !  "  said  Moreau.  "I  have  three  children;  I 
can  make  no  promises." 

*  Pretty  heart. 


A  START  IN  LIFE.  375 

"Well,  well,"  said  Madame  Clapart,  with  a  reproachful 
look  at  Moreau,  "your  Uncle  Cardot " 

"  No  more  an  Uncle  Cardot  for  me,"  replied  Oscar,  and  he 
related  the  adventure  of  the  Rue  de  Vendome. 

Madame  Clapart,  feeling  her  knees  give  way  under  the 
weight  of  her  body,  dropped  on  one  of  the  dining-room  chairs 
as  if  a  thunderbolt  had  fallen. 

"  Every  possible  misfortune  at  once  !  "  said  she,  and  fainted 
away. 

Moreau  lifted  the  poor  woman  in  his  arms,  and  carried  her 
to  her  bed.  Oscar  stood  motionless  and  speechless. 

"There  is  nothing  for  you  but  to  serve  as  a  soldier,"  said 
the  estate  agent,  coming  back  again.  "  That  idiot  Clapart 
will  not  last  three  months  longer,  it  seems  to  me ;  your  mother 
will  not  have  a  sou  in  the  world  ;  ought  I  not  rather  to  keep 
for  her  the  little  money  I  can  spare  ?  This  was  what  I  could 
not  say  to  you  in  her  presence.  As  a  soldier,  you  will  earn 
your  bread,  and  you  may  meditate  on  what  life  is  to  the 
penniless." 

"  I  might  draw  a  lucky  number,"  said  Oscar. 

"And  if  you  do?  Your  mother  has  been  a  very  good 
mother  to  you.  She  gave  you  an  education,  she  started  you 
in  a  good  way ;  you  have  lost  it ;  what  could  you  do  now  ? 
Without  money,  a  man  is  helpless,  as  you  now  know,  and  you 
are  not  the  man  to  begin  all  over  again  by  pulling  off  your 
coat  and  putting  on  a  workman's  or  artisan's  blouse.  And 
then  your  mother  worships  you.  Do  you  want  to  kill  her  ? 
For  she  would  die  of  seeing  you  fallen  so  low." 

Oscar  sat  down,  and  could  no  longer  control  his  tears, 
which  flowed  freely.  He  understood  now  a  form  of  appeal 
which  had  been  perfectly  incomprehensible  at  the  time  of  his 
first  error. 

"  Penniless  folk  ought  to  be  perfect !  "  said  Moreau  to  him- 
self, not  appreciating  how  deeply  true  this  cruel  verdict  was. 

"My  fate  will  soon  be  decided,"  said  Oscar;  "  the  num- 


376  A    START  IN  LIFE. 

bers  are  drawn  the  day  after  to-morrow.  Between  this  and 
then  I  will  come  to  some  decision." 

Moreau,  deeply  grieved  in  spite  of  his  austerity,  left  the 
family  in  the  Rue  de  la  Cerisaie  to  their  despair. 

Three  days  after  Oscar  drew  Number  27.  To  help  the  poor 
lad,  the  ex-steward  of  Presles  found  courage  enough  to  go  to 
the  Comte  de  Serizy  and  beg  his  interest  to  get  Oscar  into  the 
cavalry.  As  it  happened,  the  count's  son,  having  come  out 
well  at  his  last  examination  on  leaving  the  Polytechnic,  had 
been  passed  by  favor,  with  the  rank  of  sub-lieutenant,  into  the 
cavalry  regiment  commanded  by  the  Due  de  Maufrigneuse. 
And  so,  in  the  midst  of  his  fall,  Oscar  had  the  small  piece  of 
luck  of  being  enlisted  in  this  fine  regiment  at  the  Comte  de 
Serizy's  recommendation,  with  the  promise  of  promotion  to 
be  quartermaster  in  a  year's  time. 

Thus  chance  placed  the  lawyer's  clerk  under  the  command 
of  Monsieur  de  Serizy's  son. 

After  some  days  of  pining,  Madame  Clapart,  who  was 
deeply  stricken  by  all  these  misfortunes,  gave  herself  up  to 
the  remorse  which  is  apt  to  come  over  mothers  whose  conduct 
has  not  been  blameless,  and  who,  as  they  grow  old,  are  led  to 
repent.  She  thought  of  herself  as  one  accursed.  She  ascribed 
the  miseries  of  her  second  marriage  and  all  her  son's  ill-for- 
tune to  the  vengeance  of  God,  who  was  punishing  her  in  ex- 
piation of  the  sins  and  pleasures  of  her  youth.  This  idea  soon 
became  a  conviction.  The  poor  soul  went  to  confession,  for 
the  first  time  in  forty  years,  to  the  vicar  of  the  church  of 
Saint-Paul,  the  Abbe  Gaudron,  who  plunged  her  into  the 
practices  of  religion. 

But  a  spirit  so  crushed  and  so  loving  as  Madame  Clapart's 
could  not  fail  to  become  simply  pious.  The  Aspasia  of  the 
Directoire  yearned  to  atone  for  her  sins  that  she  might  bring 
the  blessing  of  God  down  on  the  head  of  her  beloved  Oscar, 
and  before  long  she  had  given  herself  up  to  the  most  earnest 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  377 

practices  of  devotion  and  works  of  piety.  She  believed  that 
she  had  earned  the  favor  of  heaven  when  she  had  succeeded 
in  saving  Monsieur  Clapart,  who,  thanks  to  her  care,  lived  to 
torment  her ;  but  she  persisted  in  seeing  in  the  tyranny  of 
this  half-witted  old  man  the  trials  inflicted  by  Him  who  loves 
while  He  chastens  us. 

Oscar's  conduct  meanwhile  was  so  satisfactory  that  in  1830 
he  was  first  quartermaster  of  the  company  under  the  Vicomte 
de  Serizy,  equivalent  in  rank  to  a  sub-lieutenant  of  the  line, 
as  the  Due  de  Maufrigneuse's  regiment  was  attached  to  the 
King's  Guards.  Oscar  Husson  was  now  five-and-twenty. 
As  the  regiments  of  Guards  were  always  quartered  in  Paris, 
or  within  thirty  leagues  of  the  capital,  he  could  see  his  mother 
from  time  to  time  and  confide  his  sorrows  to  her,  for  he  was 
clear-sighted  enough  to  perceive  that  he  could  never  rise  to 
be  an  officer.  At  that  time  cavalry  officers  were  almost  always 
chosen  from  among  the  younger  sons  of  the  nobility,  and  men 
without  the  distinguishing  de  got  on  but  slowly.  Oscar's 
whole  ambition  was  to  get  out  of  the  Guards  and  enter  some 
cavalry  regiment  of  the  line  as  a  sub-lieutenant ;  and  in  the 
month  of  February,  1830,  Madame  Clapart,  through  the  in- 
terest of  the  Abbe  Gaudron,  now  at  the  head  of  his  parish, 
gained  the  favor  of  the  Dauphiness,  which  secured  Oscar's 
promotion. 

Although  the  ambitious  young  soldier  professed  ardent  de- 
votion to  the  Bourbons,  he  was  at  heart  a  liberal.  In  the 
struggle,  in  1830,  he  took  the  side  of  the  people.  This  de- 
fection, which  proved  to  be  important  by  reason  of  the  way  in 
which  it  acted,  drew  public  attention  to  Oscar  Husson.  In 
the  moment  of  triumph,  in  the  month  of  August,  Oscar,  pro- 
moted to  be  lieutenant,  received  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor,  and  succeeded  in  obtaining  the  post  of  aide-de-camp 
to  La  Fayette,  who  made  him  captain  in  1832.  When  this  de- 
votee to  "the  best  of  all  Republics"  was  deprived  of  his 
command  of  the  National  Guard,  Oscar  Husson,  whose  devo- 


378  A  START  IX  LIFE. 

tion  to  the  new  royal  family  was  almost  fanaticism,  was  sent 
as  major  with  a  regiment  to  Africa  on  the  occasion  of  the  first 
expedition  undertaken  by  the  prince.  The  Vicomte  de 
Serizy  was  now  lieutenant-colonel  of  that  regiment.  At  the 
fight  of  the  Macta,  where  the  Arabs  remained  masters  of  the 
field,  Monsieur  de  Serizy  was  left  wounded  under  his  dead 
horse.  Oscar  addressed  his  company. 

"  It  is  riding  to  our  death,"  said  he,  "but  we  cannot  desert 
our  colonel." 

He  was  the  first  to  charge  the  enemy,  and  his  men,  quite 
electrified,  followed.  The  Arabs,  in  the  shock  of  surprise  at 
this  furious  and  unexpected  attack,  allowed  Oscar  to  pick  up 
his  colonel,  whom  he  took  on  his  horse  and  rode  off  at  a 
pelting  gallop,  though  in  this  act,  carried  out  in  the  midst 
of  furious  fighting,  he  had  two  cuts  from  a  yataghan  on  the 
left  arm. 

Oscar's  valiant  conduct  was  rewarded  by  the  cross  of  an 
officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  and  promotion  to  the  rank 
of  lieutenant-colonel.  He  nursed  the  Vicomte  de  Serizy  with 
devoted  affection  ;  the  Comtesse  de  Serizy  joined  her  son  and 
carried  him  to  Toulon,  where,  as  all  the  world  knows,  he 
died  of  his  wounds.  Madame  de  Serizy  did  not  part  her 
son  from  the  man  who,  after  rescuing  him  from  the  Arabs, 
had  cared  for  him  with  such  unfailing  devotion. 

Oscar  himself  was  so  severely  wounded  that  the  surgeons 
called  in  by  the  countess  to  attend  her  son  pronounced  ampu- 
tation necessary.  The  count  forgave  Oscar  his  follies  on  the 
occasion  of  the  journey  to  Presles,  and  even  regarded  him- 
self as  the  young  man's  debtor  when  he  had  buried  his  only 
surviving  son  in  the  chapel  of  the  Chateau  de  Serizy. 

A  long  time  after  the  battle  of  the  Macta,  an  old  lady 
dressed  in  black,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  man  of  thirty-four, 
at  once  recognizable  as  a  retired  officer  by  the  loss  of  one  arm 
and  the  rosette  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  at  his  button-hole, 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  379 

was  to  be  seen  at  eight  o'clock  one  morning,  waiting  under 
the  gateway  of  the  Silver  Lion,  Rue  du  Faubourg,  Saint- 
Denis,  till  the  diligence  should  be  ready  to  start. 

Pierrotin,  the  manager  of  the  coach  services  of  the  Valley 
of  the  Oise,  passing  by  Saint-Leu- Taverny  and  1* Isle- Adam, 
as  far  as  Beaumont,  would  hardly  have  recognized  in  this 
bronzed  officer  that  little  Oscar  Husson  whom  he  had  once 
driven  to  Presles.  Madame  Clapart,  a  widow  at  last,  was 
quite  as  unrecognizable  as  her  son.  Clapart,  one  of  the  vic- 
tims of  Fieschi's  machine,  had  done  his  wife  a  belter  turn 
by  the  manner  of  his  death  than  he  had  ever  done  her  in 
his  life.  Of  course,  Clapart,  the  idler,  the  lounger,  had 
taken  up  a  place  on  his  boulevard  to  see  his  legion  re- 
viewed. Thus  the  poor  bigot  had  found  her  name  put  down 
by  the  government  for  a  pension  of  fifteen  hundred  francs  a 
year  by  the  decree  which  indemnified  the  victims  of  this  in- 
fernal machine. 

The  vehicle,  to  which  four  dappled-gray  horses  were  now 
being  harnessed — steeds  worthy  of  the  Messageries  royales — 
was  in  four  divisions,  the  coupe,  the  interieur,  the  rotonde  be- 
hind, and  the  imperiale  at  top.  It  was  identically  the  same 
as  the  diligences  called  Condoles,  which,  in  our  day,  still 
maintain  a  rivalry  on  the  Versailles  road  with  two  lines  of  rail- 
way. Strong  and  light,  well  painted  and  clean,  lined  with 
good  blue  cloth,  furnished  with  blinds  of  arabesque  design  and 
red  morocco  cushions,  the  Hirondelle  de  t  Oise  (Swallow  of 
the  Oise)  could  carry  nineteen  travelers.  Pierrotin,  though 
he  was  by  this  time  fifty-six,  was  little  changed.  He  still 
wore  a  blouse  over  his  black  coat,  and  still  smoked  his  short 
pipe,  as  he  watched  two  porters  in  stable-livery  piling  numerous 
packages  on  the  roof  of  his  coach. 

"Have  you  taken  seats?"  he  asked  of  Madame  Clapart 
and  Oscar,  looking  at  them  as  if  he  were  searching  his  mem- 
ory for  some  association  of  ideas. 

"Yes,  two  inside  places,  name  of  Bellejambe,  my  servant," 


380  A  START  IN  LIFE. 

said  Oscar.  "  He  was  to  take  them  when  he  left  the  house 
last  evening." 

"Oh,  then  monsieur  is  the  new  collector  at  Beaumont," 
said  Pierrotin.  "  You  are  going  down  to  take  the  place  of 
Monsieur  Margueron's  nephew?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Oscar,  pressing  his  mother's  arm  as  a  hint 
to  her  to  say  nothing.  For  now  he  in  his  turn  wished  to  re- 
main unknown  for  a  time. 

At  this  instant  Oscar  was  startled  by  recognizing  Georges' 
voice  calling  from  the  street — 

"  Have  you  a  seat  left,  Pierrotin  ?  " 

"  It  strikes  me  that  you  might  say  Monsieur  Pierrotin  with- 
out breaking  your  jaw,"  said  the  coach-owner  angrily. 

But  for  the  tone  of  his  voice  Oscar  could  never  have  recog- 
nized the  practical  joker  who  had  twice  brought  him  such  ill- 
luck.  Georges,  almost  bald,  had  but  three  or  four  locks  of 
hair  left  above  his  ears,  and  carefully  combed  up  to  disguise 
his  bald  crown  as  far  as  possible.  A  development  of  fat  in 
the  wrong  place,  a  bulbous  stomach,  had  spoiled  the  elegant 
figure  of  the  once  handsome  young  man.  Almost  vulgar  in 
shape  and  mien,  Georges  showed  the  traces  of  disaster  in  love, 
and  of  a  life  of  constant  debauchery,  in  a  spotty  red  com- 
plexion, and  thickened,  vinous  features.  His  eyes  had  lost 
the  sparkle  and  eagerness  of  youth,  which  can  only  be  pre- 
served by  decorous  and  studious  habits. 

Georges,  dressed  with  evident  indifference  to  his  appearance, 
wore  a  pair  of  trousers  with  straps,  but  shabby,  and  of  a  style 
that  demanded  patent-leather  shoes ;  those  he  wore,  thick  and 
badly  polished,  were  at  least  three-quarters  of  a  year  old, 
which  is  in  Paris  as  much  as  three  years  anywhere  else.  A 
shabby  vest,  a  tie  elaborately  knotted,  though  it  was  but  an 
old  bandana,  betrayed  the  covert  penury  to  which  a  decayed 
dandy  may  be  reduced.  To  crown  all,  at  this  early  hour  of 
the  day  Georges  wore  a  dress-coat  instead  of  a  morning-coat, 
the  symptom  of  positive  poverty.  This  coat,  which  must 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  381 

have  danced  at  many  a  ball,  had  fallen,  like  its  owner,  from 
the  opulence  it  once  represented  to  the  duties  of  daily  scrub. 
The  seams  of  the  black  cloth  showed  white  ridges,  the  collar 
was  greasy,  and  wear  had  pinked  out  the  cuffs  into  a  dog- 
tooth edge.  Still,  Georges  was  bold  enough  to  invite  attention 
by  wearing  lemon-colored  gloves — rather  dirty,  to  be  sure, 
and  on  one  finger  the  outline  of  a  large  ring  was  visible  in 
black. 

Round  his  tie,  of  which  the  ends  were  slipped  through  a 
pretentious  gold  ring,  twined  a  brown  silk  chain  in  imitation 
of  hair,  ending  no  doubt  in  a  watch.  His  hat,  though  stuck 
on  with  an  air,  showed  more  evidently  than  all  these  other 
symptoms  the  poverty  of  a  man  who  never  has  sixteen  francs 
to  spefld  at  the  hatter's  when  he  lives  from  hand  to  mouth. 
Florentine's  lover  of  yore  flourished  a  cane  with  a  chased 
handle,  silver-gilt,  but  horribly  dented.  His  blue  trousers, 
tartan  waistcoat,  sky-blue  tie,  and  red-striped  cotton  shirt 
bore  witness,  in  spite  of  so  much  squalor,  to  such  a  passion 
for  show  that  the  contrast  was  not  merely  laughable,  but  a 
lesson. 

"And  this  is  Georges?"  said  Oscar  to  himself.  "A  man  I 
left  in  possession  of  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year !  " 

"  Has  Monsieur  de  Pierrotin  still  a  vacant  seat  in  his 
coupe?"  asked  Georges  ironically. 

"  No,  my  coupe  is  taken  by  a  peer  of  France,  Monsieur 
Moreau's  son-in-law,  Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Canalis,  with  his 
wife  and  his  mother-in-law.  I  have  only  a  seat  in  the  body 
of  the  coach." 

"  The  deuce !  It  would  seem  that  under  every  form  of 
government  peers  of  France  travel  in  Pierrotin's  conveyances ! 
I  will  take  the  seat  in  the  interieur"  said  Georges,  with  a 
reminiscence  of  the  journey  with  Monsieur  de  Serizy. 

He  turned  to  stare  at  Oscar  and  the  widow,  but  recognized 
neither  mother  nor  son.  Oscar  was  deeply  tanned  by  the 
African  sun  ;  he  had  a  very  thick  mustache  and  whiskers ;  his 


382  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

hollow  cheeks  and  marked  features  were  in  harmony  with  his 
military  deportment.  The  officer's  rosette,  the  loss  of  an 
arm,  the  plain  dark  dress,  would  all  have  been  enough  to  mis- 
lead Georges'  memory,  if  indeed  he  remembered  his  former 
victim.  As  to  Madame  Clapart,  whom  he  had  scarcely  seen 
on  the  former  occasion,  ten  years  spent  in  pious  exercises  of 
the  severest  kind  had  absolutely  transformed  her.  No  one 
could  have  imagined  that  this  sort  of  Gray  Sister  hid  one  of 
the  Aspasias  of  1797. 

A  huge  old  man,  plainly  but  very  comfortably  dressed,  in 
whom  Oscar  recognized  old  Leger,  came  up  slowly  and  heavily; 
he  nodded  familiarly  to  Pierrotin,  who  seemed  to  regard  him 
with  the  respect  due  in  all  countries  to  millionaires. 

"  Heh  !  why,  it  is  Father  Leger !  more  ponderous  than 
ever  !  "  cried  Georges. 

"Whom  have  I  the  honor  of  addressing ?"  asked  the 
farmer  very  drily. 

"What!  Don't  you  remember  Colonel  Georges,  Ali 
Pasha's  friend  ?  We  traveled  this  road  together,  once  upon  a 
time,  with  the  Comte  de  Serizy,  who  preserved  his  in- 
cognito." 

One  of  the  commonest  follies  of  persons  who  have  come 
down  in  the  world  is  insisting  on  recognizing  people,  and  on 
being  recognized. 

"You  are  very  much  changed,"  said  the  old  farmer,  now 
worth  two  millions  of  francs. 

"Everything  changes,"  said  Georges.  "Look  at  the 
Silver  Lion  inn  and  at  Pierrotin's  coach,  and  see  if  they  are 
the  same  as  they  were  fourteen  years  since." 

"  Pierrotin  is  now  owner  of  all  the  coaches  that  serve  the 
Oise  Valley,  and  has  very  good  vehicles,"  said  M.  Leger. 
"  He  is  a  citizen  now  of  Beaumont,  and  keeps  a  hotel  there 
where  his  coaches  put  up  ;  he  has  a  wife  and  daughter  who 
know  their  business " 

An  old  man   of  about  seventy  came  out  of  the  inn  and 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  3g3 

joined  the  group  of  travelers  who  were  waiting  to  be  told  to 
get  in. 

"Come  along,  Papa  Reybert  !  "  said  Leger.  "We  have 
no  one  to  wait  for  now  but  your  great  man." 

"Here  he  is,"  said  the  land  steward  of  Presles,  turning  to 
Joseph  Bridau. 

Neither  Oscar  nor  Georges  would  have  recognized  the 
famous  painter,  for  his  face  was  the  strangely  worn  counte- 
nance now  so  well  known,  and  his  manner  was  marked  by  the 
confidence  born  of  success.  His  black  overcoat  displayed 
the  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  His  dress,  which  was 
careful  in  all  points,  showed  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  some 
country  fete. 

At  this  moment  a  clerk  with  a  paper  in  his  hand  bustled 
out  of  an  office  constructed  at  one  end  of  the  old  kitchen  of 
the  Silver  Lion,  and  stood  in  front  of  the  still  unoccupied 
coupe. 

"  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Canalis,  three  places !  "  he 
called  out;  then,  coming  to  the  interieur,  he  said,  "Mon- 
sieur Bellejambe,  two  places;  Monsieur  Reybert,  three; 
Monsieur — your  name  ?  "  added  he  to  Georges. 

"  Georges  Marest,"  replied  the  fallen  hero  in  an  under- 
tone. 

The  clerk  then  went  to  the  rotonde  (the  omnibus  at  the  back 
of  the  old  French  diligence),  round  which  stood  a  little  crowd 
of  nurses,  country-folk,  and  small  storekeepers,  taking  leave 
of  each  other.  After  packing  the  six  travelers,  the  clerk 
called  the  names  of  four  youths  who  clambered  up  on  to  the 
seat  on  the  imperiale,  and  then  said  "  Right  behind  !  "  as  the 
signal  for  starting. 

Pierrotin  took  his  place  by  the  driver,  a  young  man  in  a 
blouse,  who  in  his  turn  said,  "Get  up,"  to  his  horses. 

The  coach,  set  in  motion  by  four  horses  purchased  at  Roye, 
was  pulled  up  the  hill  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Denis  at  a 
gentle  trot,  but  having  once  gained  the  level  above  Saint  Lau- 


384  A  START  IN  LIFE. 

rent,  it  spun  along  like  a  mail-coach  as  far  as  Saint-Denis  in 
forty  minutes.  They  did  not  stop  at  the  inn  famous  for 
cheese-cakes,  but  turned  off  to  the  left  of  Saint-Denis,  down 
the  valley  of  Montmorency. 

It  was  here,  as  they  turned,  that  Georges  broke  the  silence 
which  had  been  kept  so  far  by  the  travelers  who  were  study- 
ing each  other. 

"  We  keep  rather  better  time  than  we  did  fifteen  years  ago," 
said  he,  taking  out  a  silver  watch.  "  Eh  !  Father  Leger?  " 
he  asked. 

"  People  are  so  condescending  as  to  address  me  as  Monsieur 
Leger,"  retorted  the  millionaire. 

"  Why,  this  is  our  blusterer  of  my  first  journey  to  Presles," 
exclaimed  Joseph  Bridau.  "  Well,  and  have  you  been  fight- 
ing new  campaigns  in  Asia,  Africa,  and  America?  "  asked  the 
great  painter. 

"  By  Jupiter  !  I  helped  in  the  Revolution  of  July,  and  that 
was  enough,  for  it  ruined  me." 

"Oho!  you  helped  in  the  Revolution  of  July,  did  you  ?" 
said  Bridau.  "lam  not  surprised,  for  I  never  could  believe 
what  I  was  told,  that  it  made  itself." 

"  How  strangely  meetings  come  about,"  said  Monsieur 
Leger,  turning  to  Reybert.  "  Here,  Papa  Reybert,  you  see 
the  notary's  clerk  to  whom  you  owe  indirectly  your  place  as 
steward  of  the  estates  of  Serizy." 

''But  we  miss  Mistigris,  now  so  famous  as  Leon  de  Lora," 
said  Joseph  Bridau,  "  and  the  little  fellow  who  was  such  a 
fool  as  to  tell  the  count  all  about  his  skin  complaints — which 
he  has  cured  at  last — and  his  wife,  from  whom  he  has  parted  to 
die  in  peace." 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte  is  missing  too,"  said  Reybert. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Bridau  sadly,  "I  am  afraid  that  the  last  ex- 
pedition he  will  ever  make  will  be  to  1' Isle- Adam,  to  be  pres- 
ent at  my  wedding." 

"  He  still  drives  out  in  the  park,"  remarked  old  Reybert. 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  385 

"  Does  his  wife  come  often  to  see  him  ?  "  asked  Leger. 

"Once  a  month,"  replied  old  Reybert.  "She  still  pre- 
fers Paris ;  she  arranged  the  marriage  of  her  favorite  niece, 
Mademoiselle  du  Rouvre,  to  a  very  rich  young  Pole,  Count 
Laginski,  in  September  last " 

"And  who  will  inherit  Monsieur  de  Serizy's  property?" 
asked  Madame  Clapart. 

"His  wife.  She  will  bury  him,"  replied  Georges.  "The 
countess  is  still  handsome  for  a  woman  of  fifty-four,  still  very 
elegant,  and  at  a  distance  quite  illusory " 

"Elusive,  you  mean?  She  will  always  elude  you,"  Leger 
put  in,  wishing,  perhaps,  to  turn  the  tables  on  the  man  who 
had  mystified  him. 

"  I  respect  her,"  said  Georges  in  reply.  "  But,  by  the  way, 
what  became  of  that  steward  who  was  so  abruptly  dismissed  in 
those  days?" 

"Moreau?"  said  Leger.  "He  is  Deputy  now  for  Seine 
et  Oise." 

"Oh,  yes,  the  famous  centre  Moreau  (of  I'Oise)  ?  "*  said 
Georges. 

"Yes,"  replied  Leger.  "Monsieur  Moreau  (of  I'Oise). 
He  helped  rather  more  than  you  in  the  Revolution  of  July, 
and  he  has  lately  bought  the  splendid  estate  of  Pointel,  be- 
tween Presles  and  Beaumont." 

"  What,  close  to  the  place  he  managed,  and  so  near  his  old 
master  !  That  is  in  very  bad  taste,"  cried  Georges. 

"Do  not  talk  so  loud,"  said  Monsieur  de  Reybert,  "for 
Madame  Moreau  and  her  daughter,  the  Baroness  de  Canalis, 
and  her  son-in-law,  the  late  minister,  are  in  the  coupe." 

"  What  fortune  did  he  give  her  that  the  great  orator  would 
marry  his  daughter? " 

"Well,  somewhere  about  two  millions,"  said  L£ger. 

"He  had  a  pretty  taste  in  millions,"  said  Georges,  smiling, 

*  Moreau  (pronounced  mo-rO)  means   extremely  well— the  play  is  on 
the  centre  O  in  "  of  I'Oise." 
25 


386  A  START  IN  LIFE. 

and  in  an  undertone,  "He  began  feathering  his  nest  at 
Presles " 

"Say  no  more  about  Monsieur  Moreau,"  exclaimed  Oscar. 
"  It  seems  to  me  that  you  might  have  learned  to  hold  your 
tongue  in  a  public  conveyance  !  " 

Joseph  Bridau  looked  for  a  few  seconds  at  the  one-armed 
officer,  and  then  said — 

"  Monsieur  is  not  an  ambassador,  but  his  rosette  shows  that 
he  has  risen  in  the  world ;  and  nobly  too,  for  my  brother  and 
General  Giroudeau  have  often  mentioned  you  in  their  dis- 
patches  ' ' 

"Oscar  Husson  !  "  exclaimed  Georges  Marest.  "On  my 
honor,  but  for  your  voice,  I  certainly  should  never  have  rec- 
ognized you." 

"  Ah  !  is  this  the  gentleman  who  so  bravely  carried  off  the 
Vicomte  Jules  de  Serizy  from  the  Arabs?"  asked  Reybert, 
"and  to  whom  Monsieur  le  Comte  has  given  the  collectorship 
at  Beaumont  pending  his  appointment  to  Pontoise?" 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  said  Oscar. 

"Well,  then,"  said  the  painter,  "I  hope,  monsieur,  that 
you  will  do  me  the  pleasure  of  being  present  at  my  marriage, 
at  1'Isle-Adam." 

"  Whom  are  you  marrying?  "  asked  Oscar. 

"Mademoiselle  Leger,  Monsieur  de  Reybert's  granddaugh- 
ter. Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Serizy  was  good  enough  to  ar- 
range the  matter  for  me.  I  owe  him  much  as  an  artist,  and 
he  was  anxious  to  establish  my  fortune  before  his  death — I 
had  scarcely  thought  of  it " 

"Then  Pere  Leger  married?"  said  Georges. 

"My  daughter,"  said  Monsieur  de  Reybert,  "and  without 
any  money." 

"And  he  has  children?" 

"  One  daughter.  Quite  enough  for  a  widower  who  had  no 
children,"  said  Pere  Leger.  "  And,  like  my  partner  Moreau, 
I  shall  have  a  famous  man  for  my  son-in-law." 


A   START  IN  LIFE.  337 

"So  you  still  live  at  I'Isle-Adam?"  said  Georges  to  Mon- 
sieur Leger,  almost  respectfully. 
"Yes;  I  purchased  Cassan." 

"  Well,  I  am  happy  in  having  chosen  this  particular  day 
for  doing  the  Oise  Valley,"  said  Georges,  "for  you  may  do 
me  a  service,  gentlemen." 

"  In  what  way  ? ' '  asked  Leger. 

"Well,  thus,"  said  Georges.  "I  am  employed  by  the 
Society  of  r Esperancc*  which  has  just  been  incorporated, 
and  its  by-laws  approved  by  letters-patent  from  the  King. 
This  institution  is,  in  ten  years,  to  give  marriage  portions  to 
girls  and  annuities  to  old  people ;  it  will  pay  for  the  educa- 
tion of  children  ;  in  short,  it  takes  care  of  everybody " 

"So  I  should  think!"  said  old  Leger,  laughing.  "In 
short,  you  are  an  insurance  agent." 

"  No,  monsieur,  I  am  inspector-general,  instructed  to  estab- 
lish agencies  and  correspondents  with  the  company  through- 
out France ;  I  am  acting  only  till  the  agents  are  appointed ; 

for  it  is  a  delicate  and  difficult  matter  to  find  honest  men " 

"  But  how  did  you  lose  your  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year  ?  " 
asked  Oscar. 

"As  you  lost  your  arm!"  the  ex-notary's  clerk  replied 
sharply  to  the  ex-attorney's  clerk. 

"Then  you  invested  your  fortune  in  some  brilliant  deed ?" 
said  Oscar,  with  somewhat  bitter  irony. 

"  By  Jupiter !  my  investments  are  a  sore  subject.  I  have 
more  deeds  than  enough." 

They  had  reached  Saint-Leu-Taverny,  where  the  travelers 
got  out  while  they  changed  horses.  Oscar  admired  the  brisk- 
ness with  which  Pierrotin  unbuckled  the  straps  of  the  whiffle- 
tree,  while  his  driver  took  out  the  leaders. 

"Poor  Pierrotin!"  thought  he.     "Like  me,  he  has  not 
risen  much  in  life.     Georges  has  sunk  into  poverty.     All  the 
others,  by  speculation  and  skill,  have  made  fortunes.     Do  we 
*Lit.:  Trust  company. 


388  A   START  IN  LIFE. 

breakfast  here,  Pierrotin?"  he  asked,  clapping  the  man  on 
the  shoulder. 

"  I  am  not  the  driver,"  said  Pierrotin. 

"What  are  you,  then?"  asked  Colonel  Husson. 

"I  am  the  proprietor,"  replied  Pierrotin. 

"Well,  well,  do  not  quarrel  with  an  old  friend,"  said 
Oscar,  pointing  to  his  mother,  but  still  with  a  patronizing 
air ;  "  do  you  not  remember  Madame  Clapart  ?  " 

It  was  the  more  graceful  of  Oscar  to  name  his  mother  to 
Pierrotin,  because  at  this  moment  Madame  Moreau  (de  1'Oise) 
had  gotten  out  of  the  coupe  and  looked  scornfully  at  Oscar  and 
his  mother  as  she  heard  the  name. 

"On  my  honor,  madame,  I  should  never  have  known  you; 
nor  you  either,  monsieur.  You  get  it  hot  in  Africa,  it  would 
seem?" 

The  disdainful  pity  Oscar  had  felt  for  Pierrotin  was  the  last 
blunder  into  which  vanity  betrayed  the  hero  of  this  scene ; 
and  for  that  he  was  punished,  though  not  too  severely.  On 
this  wise  :  Two  months  after  he  had  settled  at  Beaumont- 
sur-Oise,  Oscar  paid  his  court  to  Mademoiselle  Georgette 
Pierrotin,  whose  fortune  amounted  to  a  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  francs,  and  by  the  end  of  the  winter  of  1838  he  mar- 
ried the  daughter  of  the  owner  of  the  Oise  Valley  coach  ser- 
vice. 

The  results  of  the  journey  to  Presles  had  given  Oscar  dis- 
cretion, the  evening  at  Florentine's  had  disciplined  his 
honesty,  the  hardships  of  a  military  life  had  taught  him  the 
value  of  social  distinctions  and  submission  to  fate.  He  was 
prudent,  capable,  and  consequently  happy.  The  Comte  de 
S£rizy,  before  his  death,  obtained  for  Oscar  the  place  of  reve- 
nue collector  at  Pontoise.  The  influence  of  Monsieur  Moreau 
(de  1'Oise),  of  the  Comtesse  de  Serizy,  and  of  Monsieur  le 
Baron  de  Canalis,  who,  sooner  or  later,  will  again  have  a  seat 
in  the  Ministry,  will  secure  Monsieur  Husson 's  promotion  to 


A    START  IN  LIFE. 


389 


the  post  of  receiver-general,  and  the  Camusots  now  recognize 
him  as  a  relation. 

Oscar  is  a  commonplace  man,  gentle,  unpretentious,  and 
modest;  faithful — like  the  Government  he  serves — to  the 
happy  medium  in  all  things.  He  invites  neither  envy  nor 
scorn.  In  short,  he  is  the  modern  French  citizen. 

PARIS,  February,  1842. 


UCSB  LIBRARY 


A     000525468     5 


